by A Rosendale
“Really?”
“Yep.”
Cooper gave a hum that reminded Alma of Dirk so much she wondered for a second if she wasn’t mistaken. “I like that,” he added quietly.
‘Me, too,’ she thought. The idea ignited a warm comfort in her.
Chapter 52
Dirk’s scribbling faltered when Judge Ripley said, “I’ve received a request from President Morgan. Eric Johnson is hereby pardoned of all charges and shall be released from custody immediately. Congratulations, Mr. Johnson.”
Dread flooded him and lifted his gaze to the defense table. The reporters and other courtroom occupants faded. All he could hear was deafening buzzing in his ears. His legs worked automatically, bringing him to his feet.
Eric Johnson finished pumping his lawyer’s hand and turned to face the court with a beaming smile. His gaze swept the sea of people and found Dirk’s. Although the smile stayed in place, a vengeful glare creased his eyes. Dirk lifted his chin to return a defiant stare, but his stomach turned violently and he clutched the notebook in his hand with white knuckles.
* * *
Agent Ramsey was absent from the proceedings. Dirk looked vaguely for him before descending the courthouse steps. He considered going straight back to the hotel to call Alma, but the anxiety gripping him steered him to a nearby pub. He needed to get his thoughts in order and figure out how to explain the situation to Alma.
“Whiskey,” he muttered to the bartender.
“Rocks?”
He shook his head distractedly. “Straight up.”
While the drink was poured, he pulled out the aging notebook. He flipped through it, reviewing everything he’d written in the past ten years.
It took hours to flip to the last page he’d filled.
‘There’s not enough,’ he thought in distress. He threw a twenty on the bar, stuffed the book in his briefcase and crossed the darkening city to the hotel. His mind wandered restlessly as he climbed the stairs to his room and swiped the key card. Thinking more about what he was about to tell Alma than about security, he never saw the intruder.
He struggled adamantly but briefly when a grass-scented cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose from behind. A powerful arm wrapped around him and pressed him to the floor as a dark curtain fell over his consciousness.
* * *
The bass drum beat in his head made Dirk wish he could stay in the blissful arms of oblivion. He blinked hard against blinding light and tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes. But neither hand would respond. Becoming more aware with every moment, he started struggling against the bindings restraining his wrists behind his back and to a hard chair.
“There’s the spirit I’ve so missed,” a sarcastic voice said.
Dirk’s head shot up to watch Eric Johnson round the corner between the living area and the small kitchenette in an unfamiliar hotel suite. His eyes narrowed with contempt.
“I can’t believe they let trash like you back out into decent civilization,” Dirk growled.
Johnson stepped forward to roughly grip his captive’s chin. The scent of liquor on his breath almost made Dirk pass out again.
“How many drinks have you put away?” he asked with difficulty. “It’s been, what, six hours since they let you go?”
Johnson reeled back and laid a powerful backhand across Dirk’s jaw that made the chair rock on its legs. Bursts of light flashed in a black void in his vision.
“Your criticism is not welcomed.” The big man retrieved a glass of vodka from an end table and sat down in an armchair facing his prisoner.
“Your company is not welcomed,” Dirk muttered in response. He didn’t anticipate the swift kick to his shin and winced.
“You should feel honored, Mr. Travers. You are my first guest.”
“Hmm. Couldn’t convince Miss Van Baron to come around?”
A Cheshire cat grin curled Johnson’s lips. “She didn’t need my invitation. She came quite willingly to D.C. when an old acquaintance called.”
Dirk raised a brow, unsure if he wanted to hear Van Baron’s fate.
“When her former protector, Dirk Travers, summoned her to the capital for old time’s sake, she jumped at the opportunity.”
“Where is she?” Dirk demanded, his voice low.
“Oh, this was two or three years ago,” Johnson explained in an off-hand tone. “Since then, she’s spent a short stint in the city morgue as Jane Doe, then off to an unmarked grave.”
“You son of a bitch.” His hands ached for a chance to wrap around the fat man’s throat.
Johnson only grinned.
“What do want? You have your freedom, you killed the girl that testified against you. What more could you possibly desire?”
He shot back the remainder of the vodka and scooted forward in the chair. His mischievous smile was gone, replaced by a stone-cold expression. “I want you, Mr. Travers. I want you to suffer for the twenty years of hell you put me through. I want to leave a scar on your body for every single day!” He grabbed Dirk by the collar and tilted the chair forward so he was balanced precariously. “And then I’m going to peel your wife from your dead arms just like you stole everyone I cared about.” He shoved him back and the chair rocked violently.
With a growl, he stood to fill his glass from the clear bottle in the kitchen. Dirk’s mind raced.
“If that’s your plan, why stall in D.C.?”
Johnson brought the bottle back with him and slouched back in the chair. “I know your wife works for NOAA in Portland, Oregon, and I knew the address of your in-laws.” He laughed to himself. Both arms were propped on the arms of the plush chair, one with a glass full of vodka and ice, the other with the half empty bottle. “Having them killed brought me great pleasure. You know, Travers, I have to admit that reports of your exploits provided to me by outside sources really helped me through the past twenty years. Entertaining, really.”
Dirk took the sudden sidetrack as a sign of the man’s intoxication.
“Anyway, although I know the city you live in, my sources continually come up empty handed in terms of a physical address. Why is that?”
He allowed himself the slightest relief. His efforts at concealment had provided a shroud of protection for his family. He shrugged. “No idea. Have you tried a phonebook, or were you locked away so long you’ve become illiterate?”
The jibe afforded him another backhand. This time, a ring on Johnson’s hand dug an inch-long groove across Dirk’s cheekbone.
“Tell me where your wife lives and I might find it in me to spare you some torment.”
Narrowed eyes contradicted the smile on his lips. “For all your supposed knowledge, Johnson, you apparently know jack-shit about me. I’d rather suffer your worst over and over than lead you to Alma.”
“That can be arranged,” Johnson growled. He took a swig of liquor, then glanced between the liquid and Dirk and a smirk spread on his lips. “How rude of me! Would you like something to drink?”
He shook his head, but Johnson was already climbing to his feet. He left his cup on the table and faced the chair with the bottle in hand.
“I insist,” he added as he grabbed Dirk by the chin again and upended the bottle.
The rancid liquid stung the fresh cut first. Tossing his head provided no reprieve; Johnson had clearly utilized his gym time in prison and held him at his mercy, liquor splashing over him. Throat, nostrils, and eyes burned as he sputtered, gasping for air.
With a smug smile, Johnson finally released him.
Dirk coughed and his stomach roiled at the scent and taste.
“You’re not a very gracious guest.”
The murmured curse was stifled by the ache in his throat.
“Good stuff, huh?”
“You procure it from your friends in Russia? I bet they’re excited to have you back.”
“Shut up, Travers. Don’t speak of matters you know nothing about.”
“I know plenty. Remember, it was my repeated repo
rts that maintained your incarceration. And,” he added as Johnson raised his fist, “I was the first to hear of your atrocities from Miss Van Baron.” Although it wasn’t true, he couldn’t help but add a personal twist with a suggestive tone. “And, boy, did she enjoy telling me.”
Johnson growled aloud, tossed the bottle onto the armchair and charged Dirk. He landed a few beefy punches to the face, then wrapped sausage-sized fingers around his captive’s slim neck.
Dirk could have laughed at how well the man played into his intentions. Before the fingers could gain a firm grasp, he lifted a well-placed knee right into Johnson’s crotch. When he stumbled back, Dirk placed the sole of his shoe against his aggressor’s chest and gave a firm shove. The former congressman’s bulk was so solid that instead of falling away, Dirk’s chair toppled over backwards. He winced as his hands were crushed behind him, but managed to roll the furniture sideways before Johnson recovered.
Face beet-red and with a vein trembling across his forehead, Johnson lumbered toward him. A drunken rage descended and he started kicking his victim. At first, his aim was off and Dirk only absorbed a glancing nudge to the knee or shoulder. But rage provided a terrifying focus and soon Johnson was repeatedly driving a battering-ram boot into his gut.
Dirk tried to weather the blows, but his muscles were weakened by the ongoing torrent and he was left struggling for teaspoons worth of air, grunting in the darkened hotel suite. The beating was punctuated by a cry of pain when Johnson lifted a knee and brought the full weight of his body into a bone-shattering stomp to the ribs.
Dirk saw red pierced with bright strobes of white. An unfamiliar whimper escaped his lips. When his vision cleared to a narrow tunnel, Johnson was leaning against the wall, chest heaving with effort and lips curled in a triumphant smile. Dirk let his head fall to the carpet weakly. His entire body quaked with pain. As he watched, his attacker drained the glass of vodka and leaned down so his sour breath tickled Dirk’s ear.
“I look forward to making your pretty wife suffer as her father did,” Johnson growled in Dirk’s ear, then disappeared into a bedroom of the suite.
Dirk struggled to even out his shaky breaths and gain a modicum of control over the pain. As the initial trauma dulled, he was able to focus on the feel of the floor under his right hand. Where the rest of the floor was a beige carpet, the material at his fingertips was cold metal. Probing the area, he found the metal was broken up by movable slats. ‘A floor vent,’ he realized. Steeling himself, he managed a small scoot so his fingers could find the edge of the vent, and, subsequently, a protruding screw. It took at least twenty minutes, but he was able to painstakingly twist the hardware free. Careful not to drop the valuable tool, he turned it so the pointy end was pressed to the thick duct tape securing his wrists. Millimeter by aggravating millimeter, he sawed through the material. By the time his hands were free, he could hear snores resounding from the bedroom.
He gained his feet with a muffled grunt. With one hand tenderly covering the broken ribs, he started toward the bedroom, intent on doing away with the threat before Johnson could ever determine his address. As he reached the bedside, the unmistakable sound of a keycard sliding in the automatic door handle echoed across the suite.
Startled, he crossed through the dark room and stepped out onto the balcony as the door to the suite opened. Certain Johnson’s accomplice would instantly recognize the escape, Dirk climbed on the railing and leapt to the neighboring balcony. He never even spared the ground a glance; a twenty-story fall was nothing compared to the danger facing his family. Rolling to safety cost his ribs a jarring that nearly made him pass out.
Swallowing bile, he slid open a glass door and stumbled through an empty suite and into the hall.
Chapter 53
Dirk felt secure that his web of deception would have Johnson combing the nation for days. He’d used his credit card to buy plane tickets to ten major cities, including Olympia and Eugene. Then, paying with cash, he booked a flight to Portland and used the last bills to pay a taxi to drive him from the airport to NOAA. With his briefcase slung over one shoulder and a papery-tinge to his sweaty face, he ducked his head and wove through the building to Alma’s office, where he stepped inside and closed the door. She jumped in alarm and turned to stare at him over her glasses in surprise.
“Dirk! I was worried! I-” She stopped abruptly. “What happened?” Her voice dropped an octave and several decibels.
“I need you to come with me. We have to go home and pack.” The tone of his voice was thin with pain, yet carried the urgency bundled in his chest.
“What? Dirk-”
“We have to go now!”
Alma placed a tentative hand on his forearm and stood from her desk. “Slow down. What happened?” Sudden realization seized her and she stared at him wide-eyed. “Johnson.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her purse, took his hand, and marched out of the building without a word to her superiors.
“We have to get out of town,” he insisted as panic wrapped its debilitating claws about his exhausted mind. Climbing into Alma’s car rattled his side and he fell into the seat, breath coming in short gasps. “And get my gun, and, and, and-”
“Dirk,” Alma said firmly. She seized his hand and squeezed hard, trying to draw him out of his panic back to his usual calm, assertive self. “Slow down. Breathe. And start at the beginning.”
When he finally sucked in as deep a breath as possible and closed his eyes, she put the car in gear and started the drive home.
“Johnson was pardoned on Tuesday,” he started in a quiet, but even tone. “He came after me instantly. It’s what, Thursday?”
Alma nodded.
“I spent the last day getting away from him and trying to lead him anywhere but here.”
“And?”
“And I feel confident I bought us two or three days head start.”
“Good,” she acknowledged quietly. After a moment of silence, she asked, “What did he say?”
Johnson’s parting words echoed incessantly in Dirk’s mind. The revelation that he’d somehow had a part to play in the mysterious deaths of their family members hardly surprised Dirk. He’d known something was amiss for years, since William’s turbulent death, but didn’t dare share his suspicions with Alma.
He realized the car had been silent for five miles. “He said he’s…” He finally looked at her, her face set and determined to brave whatever circumstances lay ahead. Dirk felt his heart swell and break simultaneously. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he muttered. The words were an echo of the numerous times he’d thought and said them over the years. “I want so badly to protect you.”
Alma quickly retook his hand. His voice was terrifying her. She’d never heard it so bleak and disheartened. “What did Johnson say?” she demanded again.
“He said he’s going to kill us,” he finally answered quietly.
She swallowed hard and squeezed his fingers. “Cooper?” she whispered.
“I don’t think he knows about Cooper, at least not yet. We have to keep him safe, no matter what.”
She nodded through the lump in her throat.
“I’ve had a bad feeling for some time,” Dirk admitted as he released her hand to dig in his bag. “I’ve written everything I can think of in here.”
Alma recognized the black book from his obsessive writings.
“I want you to keep it with you all the time. It has everything you need if I-”
“Stop!” she cried. As tears clouded her vision, she pulled to the side of the road and skidded to a stop. “Stop! Why do I need a book when I have you? You…you…”
“Alma,” he whispered and pulled her to his aching chest. He buried his face in her hair. The familiar smell of her made him unexpectedly dizzy. “Alma, I will always do everything in my power to stay at your side. Always. But I need to keep you safe if I can’t be with you. Please, please, keep it with you and read every word.” He allowed her to sit up and brushe
d long strands of hair from her tear-stained cheeks. “We don’t have much time. This notebook…just refer to it if anything should happen to me, okay? Promise?”
She swallowed again and nodded.
“It’s not complete, but-”
Alma put a finger to his lips and shook her head. “It will be. You’ll finish it and we won’t even need it.”
‘There’s the stubborn confidence I fell in love with,’ he thought. He nodded more to reassure her than out of belief in the statement. “I have every confidence in the world that you won’t need it,” he lied. “I once followed you into the North Atlantic to save a dolphin while a madman was shooting over our heads.” He smiled gently and lifted her chin with his thumb. “If there’s anyone in the world to throw a wrench in Johnson’s plans, it’s you, my dear.”
The corner of Alma’s mouth twitched, but she couldn’t convince herself to actually return his smile.
“We’ll grab Bailey and a change of clothes and pick up Cooper from school,” Dirk organized as they pulled back on the road.
“Cooper’s at a baseball tournament this weekend in Washington. He’s staying with Graham’s family tonight. I was going to drive up tomorrow,” Alma explained.
Dirk considered the information a moment before nodding. “Good. That’s good. He’ll be safe.”
“Let’s get Bailey and a change of clothes and head to Washington tonight. We’ll get a hotel and be back with Cooper tomorrow at the game.”
The suggestion satisfied his drained mind and he slumped in his seat, eyes closed. They didn’t open until the car stopped in the driveway. Alma was already unlocking the front door by the time Dirk pried his aching body from the passenger seat.
Bailey squeezed out the door to dance around Alma excitedly. When he sighted Dirk, the tempo of his tail doubled and he charged down the sidewalk. He knew better than to jump on his master, so he wiggled uncontrollably until Dirk brushed his fingers through the golden mane. Something about his companion’s state stilled the young dog’s enthusiasm. Although his tail still wagged, he walked slowly beside his human.