Alex's Atonement (Midnight Sons Book 2)

by Carmen DeSousa

  Irene left the small wood cottage and crossed the gravel street. It was a short hike from the church to the tidal lagoon. Heck, every building on the island was a short walk away. Even the airport was only a little over an hour’s walk from her parents’ tiny parsonage. While there were a few rolling hills on the island’s volcanic landscape, she’d learned as a child to stick to the marked trails. Snow and vegetation easily hid deep crevasses and lava tubes.

  Irene made her way to the beach, stopping and staring at the Bering Sea every few minutes, snapping pics of the plentiful fishing boats on the horizon, and watching for the occasional black fin. When she reached the cove, the tide was out, so she strolled along the soft sand.

  Once upon a time, the lagoon served as a killing field, where hunters trapped unsuspecting seals in the low tide. Thankfully the barbaric act of clubbing seals no longer existed in this part of the world. She had never condemned her ancestors for killing animals, as they used everything and wasted nothing, unlike the fur traders who only wanted the seals’ coats. She shivered at the gruesome pictures she’d seen as a child and was thankful for all the acts Congress had enacted to control senseless hunting.

  Even today, as she walked the tidal flats, she saw remnants of seal bones and teeth. Many tourists registered to keep their treasures, but she just came here to watch the fog roll in. Even though the seals wouldn’t migrate back to Saint Paul until May, she would likely spy the herd of free-roaming reindeer and the ever-present artic foxes that roamed the island year-round.

  Irene breathed in the cold briny air. She’d miss her parents when she left, but no way could she live in this remote village more than a few weeks. No, San Fran was now her home. Although the thought of staying on Alaska’s mainland held some appeal, there was nothing in Alaska for her but memories.

  After a few hours, Irene made her way back to the three-bedroom cottage where she’d been born. The wood siding still bore the same rust-colored paint that it had always worn. It was as if one of the tribe members had decided long ago that all cottages would be rust-red, baby-blue, sable-brown, or dove-gray. And once chosen, each house had to maintain that color until the end of time. She had to admit, the staggered order of houses in different shades did give the fishing village a storybook-look. She snapped a couple more pictures with her phone as she made her way down the small knoll.

  As soon as Irene entered the house, she knew something was wrong. The motivational scriptures set in frames and the old-rugged cross that hung in the foyer were crooked. And the house was too quiet. Her mother would have returned from her errands at the corner store and post office a while ago. And based on the aroma of fish stew wafting in from the kitchen, her mother had already started dinner, which meant that Irene should hear her puttering around. Even if she were in the washroom, she’d be talking to herself or humming a hymn; it’s what her mother did.

  Irene shoved her hands in her pockets, curled her fingers around the pocketknife that never left her side anymore.

  “I … rene!” Cal crooned in his saccharine-sweet voice. “We’ve been waiting for you, darling.”

  Of course her mother would have opened the door to Cal. Most of the crimes committed on Saint Paul were domestic violence, perpetrated behind closed doors. Since families were locked in closed quarters for months on end, many of the natives of Saint Paul experienced a sense of despair, so they drank to wash away their troubles. Drinking, of course, only made things worse. The cycle of abuse started from childhood, and many islanders continued the reckless lifestyle. Shortly after Irene had moved away, she’d read where her father had worked with authorities, setting up shelters, social workers, and programs to not only help the victims, but to educate the offenders. The paper had quoted her father as saying, I will never give up on a lost soul. I believe with Christ at the helm, all persons can turn their life around.

  Because of her parents’ instant attack and refusal to listen or forgive, Irene had been angry when she’d read that quote. Now all she felt was fear for her parents. She couldn’t lose them now, not after all the years she’d wasted.

  Cal smiled at her, waving her into the living area as if he owned the place. “Come in, my dear. I was just telling your mother how much I enjoyed our short time together.”

  Heat burned in her chest. “I swear to you, Cal —”

  He raised an eyebrow, cutting off her threat, then nodded to her mother. “Your mother has been very hospitable. She even set out tea.”

  Irene gulped. Her eyes met her mother’s knowing gaze. While her mother sat as still as a bird on the couch, forcing her soft round cheeks up in a closed-mouth smile, Irene could see the fear in her eyes. Her mother knew a bad man when she saw one. Her mother’s father had been one of the natives who drank and abused his wife and kids. Irene’s father had taken her mother away from that life.

  Irene sat next to her mother and squeezed her cool hand. “It’s okay, Ana-ana.” She stared back up at Cal. If she could just get her mother out of the room, she’d do what she had to do, what she’d been preparing to do from the first time Cal shot Kevin in cold blood.

  Cal strolled the length of the small room in two strides. Ignoring her father’s tattered recliner, he pushed back the coffee table with his foot and perched on the edge. He scooped up Irene’s hands in his. “Of course, everything is okay, Irene. Here’s what’s going to happen, love. You’re going to say goodbye to your lovely mother and then come back with me. Your mother isn’t going to worry or say anything to anyone because she knows how happy we are going to be.”

  Cal smiled down at her mother, and her mother returned his fake emotion with another quick raise of her closed lips. “Of course. If Irene is happy, I am happy too, and her ata will be happy.”

  “See.” Cal shrugged. “Easy. Pack your bags, and we’ll be off.”

  Irene stood, and Cal followed suit. “My bags are in the other room, Cal.”

  He excitedly wiggled his shoulders as if he were a teenage girl. “Oh, I know. I just missed you so much over the last few days that I don’t want anything to separate us.”

  Irene walked toward the small room she and her sister had shared as children. Did Cal really think there was a chance that they could be together? Her fingers ached to attack him, but if there were any chance that she could get out of the house first, she’d take it. For that matter, she’d fly anywhere he wanted if it meant he wouldn’t harm her mother.

  Decided, Irene threw her suitcase up on the bed. If he started to do anything to her mother, she would fight, even to her death. But if he did as he said, she’d go willingly. No matter what happened to her after he took her away, at least her family would be safe.

  Without concern of a sloppy suitcase, Irene hurriedly emptied the dresser and closet of all the clothes she’d bought before leaving Anchorage. She shoved everything into the new suitcase she’d purchased. She didn’t bother going to the bathroom for her toiletries. The faster they got out of the house, the better. Her father would return home soon, and he wouldn’t behave as passively as her mother.

  Cal fingered the faded-blue light-blocking curtains that had hung in her room for thirty-some years. “So this is where the famous Irene Rose grew up. Hmm. I never would have guessed the woman of my dreams would have come from Saint Paul Island of all places.”

  Irene shook her head, then clicked the latches on the suitcase. She didn’t need to pretend when her mother wasn’t in the room. “All packed.”

  “Should we stop by the church and meet your father? Or the museum and meet your pregnant sister?”

  Irene threw her hands up in front of her face. “I get it, Cal. You know everything about me. Why are you doing this? I haven’t said a word to anyone.”

  He snatched up her bag with one hand, then squeezed his other hand around her arm. “Because Alex owes me a life … and so much more.” He forcefully escorted her out of the bedroom, back to the living area.

  Her mother, God help her, stood. Irene saw the outline of th
e revolver in her mother’s apron, but she shook her head when her mother started to reach for it. “No, Ana-ana. All is well. Cal will treat me well, I promise.”

  Tears snaked down her mother’s cheeks, but she sank back to the sofa.

  “Remember what I told you, Mrs. Rose,” Cal offered in a low, demanding voice. “Irene will be safe as long as no one says anything. I am a man of my word, ma’am.”

  With that, Cal hauled Irene out of the house and dragged her down the driveway to the road. Irene glanced over her shoulder at the church that sat on the neighboring lot. More than likely, her father wouldn’t be staring out the window. Still, she said a prayer that he wouldn’t.

  At his vehicle, Cal opened the passenger door and nudged her inside. One side of metal handcuffs was already strapped to the grab handle on the roof. He clicked the other cuff to her hand, then slammed the door.

  Cal jumped in the driver’s seat and sped toward the airstrip.

  Irene stared around at the island of her birth, the place she couldn’t wait to escape when she was a teenager, and only a few hours ago, she’d been planning to leave again. Now, Cal was forcing her to leave, which meant she might not see the island or her family ever again.

  Chapter 23

  ~ Alex ~

  Alex’s knuckles were pure white as he landed.

  Last check, the winds were holding steady at thirty knots, and the cloud cover was thirty-five percent. The runway was only 150 feet wide on an island that was barely seven miles at its widest point. One wrong calculation, and he’d end up in the drink, the way Kevin had brought down that beautiful Kodiak.

  After landing, Alex taxied to a designated space, and then charged toward the hangar, both duffle bags in tow.

  He dropped the two sand-crusted fifty-pound bags in front of the man who’d been awaiting his arrival. “Truly, if I never see these bags again it will be too soon.”

  Wheelan nodded. “They’re worth a lot of money. Glad you didn’t take off with them.”

  Alex grimaced. “My integrity and Irene’s safety are worth way more than two million dollars. Hell, I don’t even like the way that sounds. Money might bring me to my knees, but it can’t buy me.”

  “Glad to hear that, Alex.”

  The hangar remained quiet for a long while as they waited. Neither of them were what you’d call verbose.

  Once again, Alex prayed that he’d made the right decision. He’d know soon enough.

  Wind battered the siding. Hard to believe the island could withstand the waves, let alone the constant wind. Although he was dressed for the weather, a shiver traveled through him.

  “Here we go!” Wheelan said, pure adrenaline in his voice.

  Alex knew the feeling all too well, but right now, all he felt was sick for what was about to go down.

  “Please God, let this be the right decision.” If it wasn’t, it would certainly be his last decision.

  ~ Irene ~

  Cal parked the SUV he’d borrowed — or rented — whatever Saint Paul now offered.

  When she’d lived on Saint Paul, only a half-dozen or more people owned cars. Now, nearly half the population had some sort of beat-up and past-its-prime mode of transportation. Even her parents now owned some unidentifiable vehicle. She wasn’t sure of the make or model, since the emblem on the hood had rusted down to nothing more than a nub, along with half the trunk and undercarriage.

  As Cal plucked her luggage out of the cargo area, she dug for the knife in her pocket. Now that she wasn’t near her mother, she’d use it. She wasn’t sure how she would do it, but she knew damned well she wouldn’t let him take off with her without a fight.

  Cal tapped on the rear glass. “I’ll get the plane readied and come back for you, my love.”

  Grrr … If he called her my love one more time, she was pretty sure she’d have grounds for murder. Certainly, a jury of female peers would see it that way.

  As Cal practically skipped to his waiting plane, Irene used the knife to gouge the grab handle. None of the screws that connected the handle to the roof were visible, so she pried at the plastic cover, which she assumed concealed the screws.

  Frustrated, she tapped at the power window switch. She didn’t want to endanger anyone’s life, but while he was busy, maybe she could call out to anyone who passed to call authorities.

  “Damn it!” She tapped the button again and again. “Freaking child-safety locks! Are you kidding me?” Irene stared back at Cal’s plane. Too late. He was climbing out of the pilot’s seat. “Daaammnnn it all to hell.”

  She tugged and tugged, but the stupid grab handle wouldn’t budge. Frantic, she tried to wrench her wrist free, but all she managed to do was rip open her flesh. As thin as she was, her wrist bones were too pointy. Cal had tightened the cuff until it had clicked, then he’d clicked it again.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. Surely, he didn’t plan to kill her. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t have let her mother see his face. What then? Did he think he could keep her locked in his cellar forever and no one would come looking for her? Or was he so insane that he thought she’d actually fall in love with a murderous, drug-dealing thug?

  Cal smiled widely as he approached the vehicle.

  Oh, God, maybe he is that insane.

  Irene gnawed on her lip and shoved the knife back in her pocket, wiping away the few tears that had escaped. If he saw the knife before he unlatched her, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Cal opened the passenger door. He unlocked the latch from the grab handle but didn’t remove the one from her hand. Instead, he latched her hands together. His cold fingers brushed her neck as he loosened her scarf. Freeing it, he draped the scarf over the cuffs, masking them in the event anyone stepped out of the small control tower.

  “Don’t want you running off now that we’re out of your mother’s house, do we?” Cal crooned. “Don’t worry, Irene. We’re going to have a great life. We have a lot in common.”

  She stared up at him, doing her best not to spit in his face as she’d seen in so many movies. But no, she was better than him — or at least she was above doing something so grotesque.

  This was her final moment, though. Planes didn’t have child-safety locks. As soon as he buckled in and was taxiing down the runway, she’d jump out. If she jumped right before the plane lifted, she’d more than likely hit gravel or dried grass. He wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d have to circle back around and land. By the time he caught up with her, she’d be in the tower, and she’d have whoever manned the station to call the police.

  She’d just have to play nice until then. “Umm … great … plane,” she hacked out the words, which made her statement less convincing. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Is this your largest plane?”

  Cal escorted her up the steps and eased her into an overstuffed white leather swivel chair.

  “It is. It’s fully equipped with a master suite and kitchen. Once we’re in the air, I’ll set the plane on autopilot and give you the grand tour.”

  Irene swallowed the lump in her throat. Apparently, he wasn’t going to uncuff her until they were in the air. It’d be harder, but still, she’d manage. Heck, maybe she’d manage to not break a wrist, since she wouldn’t be able to block her fall.

  She stared at the door as Cal started to latch it shut. What if he locked it?

  Realizing she had to act immediately, she jumped up and ran into Cal full force. The impact knocked him head-first out of the plane. His arms flailed as he tried to catch the door but found nothing but air. Irene, her hands shackled, was unable to stop her forward momentum or grab a handle, so she tumbled out after him.

  Cal landed with a scream and then fell silent. Irene found Cal was good for one thing: a landing pad.

  CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

  Irene stared up at a circle of men, some in uniform, some in plain-clothes. Some Aleut, some pale white. And Alex.

  “Cal Landrum,” a man in uniform shouted. “You’re under arrest for the attempt
ed abduction of Irene Rose.”

  “I think I knocked him out,” Irene said to the man, then scowled at Alex. “You’re late!”

  Alex blinked. “Late for what? I brought the cavalry.”

  Irene struggled to get up, so Alex reached for her.

  “I can manage,” she groused. “I saved myself this time. So I suspect I can handle this little inconvenience.” She righted herself, then dug in Cal’s pocket for the keys. “On second thought, a little help, please.”

  Alex shook his head but reached for the keys and freed her.

  Cal groaned, tilting his head up to take in the group of law enforcement. “Son of a bitch!” He laid his head back on the runway.

  “Cal Landrum,” said the officer … or agent, — whatever he was — a second time, “You’re under arrest for attempting to abduct Irene Rose. We have a warrant for your estate and aircrafts, so we’ll add all the rest of the charges later.” The officer then proceeded to Mirandize Cal.

  Irene turned back to Alex. “What the hell? How do they know who I am and what Cal was attempting to do?”

  Alex lowered his lids. “You’re right. I am late. And I’m sorry. I knew Cal would go after you the moment he knew you weren’t with me, but I didn’t expect him to go the same day.”

  Irene held up her hands. “You used me as bait?”

  Alex licked his lips. “No, not really. I knew he’d come after you, so I made sure I was here when he did. I tracked his plane here, but then I had to convince the locals that he planned to go after you. By the time they arrived at your house, your mother said he’d just left with you. So, the officers waited for him to put you on the plane.”

  “So, you allowed them to use me as bait,” Irene growled.

  “I saved you, Irene. For the fourth or fifth time. I’ve lost count. And you used me.”