by Karen Harper
When she could actually discern a man’s tracks, she felt better. Assuming the tracks were Laird’s, she tried to read the pressure points as Nick had taught her. Laird was moving fast, his strides wide. Yet he was dragging his feet, too, no more clean prints. These imprints didn’t look dried at all, so they must be recent. But they started to waver before her eyes as if phantom feet were pressing into the soil and moving the mud even now. Was this what Nick had called ground surge, or was she just hungry and exhausted, almost dizzy?
She forced herself to lift her eyes from the trail for any sign of him ahead. Beamer went even faster, and so she did. Dead tracking. The very term scared her now.
They came to another stream, cold and clear, rushing down from the Cascades or their foothills. She had no bearings now, no real idea where she could be. As Nick had surmised, numerous streams slashed through the area. But where was the waterfall Jordan had mentioned to Veronica, near his and Laird’s hunting place, the place they’d had their dead prey taken out by air?
She glanced again into the rushing water. This stream was full of cutthroat trout, silvery brown, racing below the surface as if they had somewhere important to go. The cold current was so fierce that they had to work hard to stay in place. She wasn’t sure if that kind of trout made a yearly run back to their birthing place. Birthing place. She’d borne her son at the clinic in the cold of winter. She almost remembered some of it, the pain and panic, if not the joy. And that crying, crying she’d heard: her son in the other room, taking his first breaths, then being taken away from her.
Beamer halted and cocked his head. She wondered if he heard something she did not. He sniffed in a circle where there seemed to be a path through deep woods, heavy with drooping hemlocks and thick with frosted ferns, now gone deathly brown. Yes, Claire would think this, too, was a haunted forest in one of her fairy tales, where some witch was waiting. Tara prayed that Laird had not gone in that direction. But that was the way Beamer turned, so she strode after him.
Nick’s pain was so bad that they gave him what they called an amnesiac sedative before they set his leg. He was in the Cascade Valley Hospital in Arlington, Washington; he’d caught that much. He’d managed to talk to the park rangers before they’d carted him out on a stretcher, jolting him into the pain of oblivion. They’d told him in the ambulance that he had a fever and was talking as if he’d been in the desert and two guys had been killed. They’d asked if he was a soldier and had post-traumatic stress disorder, but he couldn’t recall what answer he’d given them. He evidently had given them Veronica’s name and where to find her.
The moment Veronica arrived at the hospital, she’d told them everything, then said to him, “Tara’s fighting back, Nick. I told them that the only hint I could give them was some waterfall.”
They said they’d keep him overnight, then evidently had strapped him down, because he kept insisting he had to get up to save Tara. He slogged through forests and streams in nightmares where she stayed just out of sight, out of reach. When he opened his eyes, Veronica sat there, staring at him. She popped out of her chair by his bed and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I hope I can call you Nick,” she said at first. “I believe, once we get Tara back, we will be friends, a family of sorts.”
This feisty family matriarch was Jordan Lohan’s wife? She had helped him and Tara, so he could trust her.
“Thanks for being here,” he managed. His tongue felt too full for his mouth. What in hell had they given him? His thoughts all ran together.
“It’s quite a bad break,” she told him. “I decided to fight Laird and Jordan for all of us. The good Lord knows I haven’t done enough of that. Do you recall that I told the hospital to inform the park rangers all about Laird taking the baby and Tara going after him? And, you know,” she added with a sparkle in her eyes, “I believe I forgot to tell them Laird was the boy’s father. I just didn’t want to complicate things until he was caught.”
He tried to lift a hand to take hers in thanks, but he was still tied down.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I absolutely hate that. They did it to Tara and me at the clinic, you know. Are you sure you are not going to insist you have to save soldiers and their dogs in the desert the way you’ve been talking?”
“Yes, ma’am. I think I’ve come to terms with that now. I’m looking forward, not back, with Tara, if we can just find her.”
“So you will stay put in this bed?” When he nodded, she added, “Then I’ll undo these Velcro ties.”
“Veronica,” he said as she freed his arms, “what’s Laird capable of, if she corners him and he has Jordie there?”
She frowned and shook her head. “All the Lohan men are so crazed for heirs, but even more protective of family reputation and wealth. I don’t know, Nick. I have always admired Tara for standing up to them, but if she does it now—I just don’t know.”
Nick lay helpless in the bed, holding Veronica’s hand, thinking he’d give anything if Tara could just come back to him with her son in her arms.
When they came out into an alpine meadow, Tara saw they were high enough to have moved from patches of mist to random pieces of clouds resting on the rocky outcrops here. The air seemed thinner. Was it raining somewhere in the distance? She thought she heard an approaching storm.
Overhead, vultures soared on the thermals. Was something dead nearby? Were they stalking her or the dog? Beamer had been tiring, panting harder, but he pushed himself and her on and on. For his sake and Nick’s, too, she should stop, let Beamer rest. Other than a long drink at the last stream, he’d had no sustenance, but she wasn’t sure if he’d eat bread. She should try to bandage his feet again, because he was leaving his own reddish trail on rocks they crossed.
“Beamer, sit,” she said. The moment she stopped walking, she realized how cold it was. If they stayed out in the open, sweating like this, they’d both get sick. They had to go on, at least to shelter.
She’d tried her phone two more times since the meadow, and wanted to again. Nothing had worked so far. Roaming, the message had read. Roaming, just like her and Beamer. Why would Laird have come so far with her baby? Had he come all this way to give his father time to fly to the area and rescue him, get him a false identity or call in a chopper, like the one that had rescued Marcie before her death?
And then she thought she heard the falls. A muted roar, not distant thunder. Yes, that must be where Laird had been going all along. Veronica had said something about hiding under the falls. Would he do that with little Jordie? Wait for the exact time to reconnoiter with his father or a chopper?
Despite her exhaustion, she started to run, almost side by side with Beamer. If Laird gave her the chance to go with them, she wouldn’t dare, or they might throw her from the chopper as they had Marcie. But she could not bear to see Laird fly away with her boy. With their money, all three generations of Lohan males would disappear, the way they must have spirited away her clinic doctor.
Between a cleft in the hill they were climbing, the view opened up to an alpine tarn with a tall waterfall thundering into it. The roar was instantly louder; the slant of land and rocks must have muted it before. “Beamer, sit,” she said, and hunkered down beside the dog. Below her, at least a football field away, she could see a man and a child at the water’s edge. It looked as if they were both throwing stones into the ice-blue lake.
Dear God, she prayed, don’t let them be rescued and taken out of here before I can get down there. But should she leave Beamer here or take him with her? He was exhausted, bleeding, her hero. No, she needed Beamer. Maybe he could distract Laird or amuse Jordie. Nick would want her to keep Beamer with her.
“Beamer, heel,” she said, and started down the slant of grassy hill, hoping that Laird was looking only at the lake or sky. But if and when she got close to him, what then? What would she say and do? She wished she had a gun—yes, she who hated guns. With the blood roaring in her ears loud enough to rival the waterfall, she descended into
what Laird must think was his own personal valley.
She was only about twenty yards from them when he looked around and shaded his eyes. Feeling like a fool, she waved, rather gaily, she thought, as if they were the fondest of lovers and she’d merely been off hunting flowers for a few minutes. Laird picked Jordie up and headed for the falls.
She was terrified at first he would do something dreadful, but she saw them disappear between two rocks. Veronica’s memory must be correct; you could walk behind the falls. She ran toward the spot she’d seen them go. Water crashed down from at least four stories high to the rock-strewn pool below.
But when she approached the place they’d disappeared, she hesitated, looking up. Beamer tried to pull her on as if he were still tracking. “Heel,” she said, and craned her neck to be sure there were no rocks overhead that could come crashing down on them. She did not believe Laird was directly to blame for her nearly being flattened at Red Rocks, but she wasn’t taking chances.
She almost laughed aloud at that thought. Wasn’t taking chances? What about all she’d done since her new doctor asked her two weeks ago when she’d had a baby? And she had not come all this way to let Jordie—her Danny—slip away now.
Still holding Beamer’s lead, she started around the back of the falls. The sound of the water reverberated off the rocks; the noise was deafening. The pathway deep into the rock was as slippery as glass. That damned Laird could fall, with Jordie in his arms!
Pressing her back to the slick rock behind her, doused at first by a blinding curtain of mist, she sidestepped under the falls. She’d thought she’d need her flashlight under here, but an eerie, bluish, rippling light lit a cavern the falls must have carved out centuries ago. Puddles, some shallow, some ankle-deep, studded the uneven path above other rock ledges and a lower pool. Some puddles were lined with slimy-looking algae. Beamer came behind, the bravest dog she’d ever seen, but then, Nick had trained him. Nick. If only she could have a life with him, with Claire, with Jordie and Beamer, too!
As she looked ahead through the shimmering mist, she did not see Laird. Where had he disappeared to? Enough diffused light came in to see he was not under here. Then, through the drift of wayward spray, she saw him, as if in a spotlight on the other side, exiting the falls. She hurried faster and fell hard to her knees, sprawled on her stomach in a puddle.
“Oomph!’ she cried as the breath slammed out of her. She hit her chin, biting her lip. Her cell phone skittered away, over the ledge, just as Clay had kicked it away the day he’d killed Alex. Damn, why did she have to think of that now?
Beamer nudged her, licked her cheek. She got to her knees; her hand on the sturdy dog’s back for support, she stood. Five feet below, her phone lay in a pool of water. At her feet, her plastic sack had broken open and spewed everything into this puddle. She gathered the things up hastily, jamming them into her pockets. All that mattered was that Laird must have just gone out to the other side of the lake.
Ignoring her pains and cuts, she pressed on. It got lighter again. But was a trap awaiting her, another boulder when she stepped out from under the falls? Still pressed to the slick rock face, she shouted, “Heel!” to Beamer and darted outside. She scrambled, apparently safe, up the rocky, twisting path ahead.
No Laird. No Jordie. She stared across the falls-fed tarn. He had not fled to this side of the lake. They must have gone up this jagged path toward the top of the falls. Could Beamer pick up a scent on water-washed rock?
She pulled Laird’s sock from her pocket. “Find, Beamer. Find!” she commanded, thrusting it at the dog. He sniffed. He went in circles. He started up the rocky path, then came back. Then he sat, looking up at her, with his head cocked as if to ask her for more help.
No more help from Beamer, at least not here, she thought, starting onward with the dog coming behind her. Was Laird even up this way? Did he have some other hiding place once he emerged from under the falls? If he’d fled again, maybe Beamer could pick up his now-familiar scent once they got off these wet rocks. But, of course, above must be a wild river. Would everything be water-washed up there, too?
Out of breath and drenched with mist and sweat, Tara emerged above the falls. About twenty feet away, evidently waiting for her, Laird stood on a rocky ledge above the roiling river rushing to plunge over the edge. And in his arms, he held their sobbing, kicking son.
27
Tara’s first thought was to get close enough to Laird to snatch Jordie from him, but any sort of a struggle could tip them all into the water surging over the falls. Her second instinct was to comfort the upset child. At least Laird had him warmly dressed with a hood pulled up over his head, as if he still could hide the child’s reddish roots from her.
“Hello, again!” Laird shouted as if he hadn’t a care in the world while he stood on the jutting ledge. “Welcome to one of the most beautiful spots my father and I have ever found. Shall we chat about the good old days or the bad new ones? See, Jordie, the lady has a dog. Doggie, see?” he added, bouncing the boy. “Don’t cry. Quiet now so I can talk to the lady.”
With Jordie being almost dangled over the falls, Tara knew she had never hated or feared anyone so much in her life as she did Laird right now. But she’d never been more certain that she would do absolutely anything it took to get Jordie away from him—though that did not include walking toward him, where he could push her over the brink. Did he think she would actually fall for this charmer routine?
She dug in her jacket pocket where she’d stuffed the small sack of candy. Most of it, she knew, was smashed. She had the peanut butter jar in the other pocket, but no more bread.
“Hi, Jordie,” she called, forcing a trembling smile and blinking back tears. Laird and Jordie looked as if they stood in a halo of mist. The roar was not as loud as it was below, but enough that they had to almost shout at each other. “I brought some candy for you. Are you hungry, honey? Would you like to play with the dog—doggie, like Daddy said?” she asked in a frenzied out-pouring of words, as Beamer pressed tight to her legs.
At first she thought the dog was wheezing, but she realized—more through touch than sound—that Beamer was growling. Did he instinctively know that Laird was the enemy they’d been tracking, or did he think that he was going to harm the child? Beamer and Nick had tracked both escaped felons and lost children, so maybe the dog had a sixth sense about this.
Jordie stopped crying, swiped at his eyes with one fist and nodded. When Tara extended the candy to him from where she stood on solid ground, Laird shouted, “You’re crazy, Tara! Always have been, messing with down-and-outers who don’t pay you half the time. Just stay back. You found us with the dog, didn’t you? I didn’t know you had one with you, but I do know trackers are not trained to be attack dogs.”
“Really? This one’s trained by a man who’s been living for years with the Delta Force in combat with the Taliban. Are you certain he only trains dogs to do tracking?”
Laird’s eyes narrowed. He looked suddenly unsure of himself. If that bluff seemed to work, maybe she could use others. Yes, conning Laird like she’d never done anyone else.
“Why don’t you just marry him?” he demanded. “Go east with him and his niece and have your own kids.”
“Obviously, because I already have my own kid, who has been abducted for nearly three years. Laird, you took a child from his m-o-t-h-e-r when she didn’t even know that he—”
“Never mind all that coddling social work crap again. Too late.”
“Too true. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you take my child.”
“I hungry, Daddy,” Jordie screeched, twisting to be put down. “I want candy!” To Tara’s horror, the child bucked in Laird’s arms, almost throwing them off balance. She detested Laird for standing at the edge of the rock as if to say, One wrong move and I might drop this child.
“I have peanut butter, too, with jelly in it,” she said, producing the jar of it. “Grandma sent it for you, Jordie. Laird, you brought tha
t child out here without food? But then, you didn’t plan to be here long, did you? Is Daddy Dearest coming or his lackeys, maybe in a similar helicopter that pulled Marcie Goulder away from me and then just dumped her?”
“Daddy Dearest,” Jordie repeated. “I want candy!”
“Let me at least roll this jar of peanut butter to you, Laird. Let him get some protein in him.”
“Ah, the mother-knows-best approach. How do I know there isn’t something in it to harm him?”
“Harm him? You’re the one who’s been harming him! How dare you let an alcoholic take care of my child! She’s probably only been hitting the bottle because you were so awful to her when she found out she couldn’t be your next broodmare!”
“Now there’s the real Tara. Too clever by far.”
“Of course, you’re planning to get rid of her now one way or the other,” she plunged on, ignoring his accusations. “How about this scenario? You help her fall down some stairs when she’s on the sauce. She supposedly hits her head and goes into a coma that you can drag out at the clinic until you—”
“I should have just let Dad get rid of you!” he exploded, almost screaming, despite the fact Jordie started to cry again. “I told him no, the mother of my son had to be protected, even if she had no intention of giving me that son. I was furious when that loose cannon Rick Whetstone actually tried to roll a rock on you. I said he needed to go, but I didn’t realize that would mean—mean what happened. Then his girlfriend took over and got really pushy, but I didn’t have anything to do with that. I really didn’t want you hurt, Tara.”
“Didn’t want me hurt? What do you think you were doing by keeping me comatose, by letting me think I had a daughter who died, by taking my son away from me?”