Foreboding replaced her rush of relief. No matter what Dillon said, the anxiety in his eyes told the true story. Everything wasn’t okay.
It was time to face reality.
DILLON STRAINED BACK against the oars, putting all his frustration into the stroke. The boat shot forward, cutting across the current, bringing them closer to the nightmare that waited on the other side. Damn. He didn’t want to set foot on the shore. He didn’t want the magic he had experienced the past day with Jacqueline and her daughter to end.
But it had to end. He knew that as well as he knew his own damn name. He’d seen the expression on Mylinski’s face. Even across the narrow channel of the river he’d recognized bad news.
Jacqueline had recognized it, too. Tension lined her lush mouth. Worry glazed her wide eyes. Amanda cuddled against her mother’s side, very still, so different from the chatty, imaginative girl who’d played on the sandbar.
The boat hit the shore with a thud. Mylinski grabbed the rope at the bow, preventing the current from sweeping them downstream. His balding head glistened in the afternoon sun like a full moon on the rise. After shooting Dillon a care-laden look, he plastered a big smile on his face for Amanda. “So, Mandy, did you have fun rowing around the river in old Lizzy here?”
Amanda’s eyebrows rose. “Lizzy?”
“Leaking Lizzy.” He gestured to the rowboat. “The old girl likes communing with the river bottom.”
Amanda looked around the bottom of the boat as if expecting to see the water rising around her ankles.
Mylinski laughed. “Don’t worry, Mandy-girl. I just had her all caulked and fixed up for spring.”
She still looked anxious to get out of the boat.
Mylinski’s methods might leave something to be desired, but Dillon had to give him credit for taking the little girl’s mind off her real fear. As well as the somber mood of her mother and himself. He stepped out of the boat and secured it so Jacqueline and Amanda could climb out. He didn’t want to look at Jacqueline. He knew what he’d see in her eyes. The same pain she would see in his.
Striding back in the direction of the cabin, Mylinski dipped his hand into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a handful of colorful candy. “Look what I just found in my pocket. Would you like some, Mandy?”
Amanda glanced up at Jacqueline.
Jacqueline nodded. “Go ahead, punkin. You may have a piece.”
She chose a piece from Mylinski’s open hand. “Thank you.”
The detective dipped a hand into his other coat pocket. “Would you look at this? I found something in this pocket, too.” He pulled out a Barbie doll dressed from head to toe in English riding togs. Amanda’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She held the doll in her little hands, staring at her prize. “Thank you, Dedective,” she whispered.
They climbed the steps and entered the cabin. Once Amanda was occupied in the bedroom with her candy, her doll and her stuffed horse, Dillon zeroed in on Mylinski. “Where the hell have you been?”
“New York City. I had to go pick up a guy that skipped bail.” Disgust filled Mylinski’s voice. “Kearney was supposed to do it, but the little soldier called in sick. Flu or something.”
Kearney again. Dillon frowned. “How about the investigation? What have you turned up?”
“Nothing. Nada. But that’s not the important thing. You guys have got to get out of here.”
A shot of adrenaline spiked his bloodstream at the urgency in Mylinski’s voice. “What’s happened?”
“The department traced the call you made last night from The Riverbend Tavern. They know you’re here and they know you have Jacqueline and Amanda. The state police are combing the area as we speak.”
Damn. He’d thought he’d been safe making that call from the tavern. Instead he’d led the police right to them. And if the mole in the task force had gotten wind of the trace, Buck Swain was closing in on them, too.
Beside him, eyes rounding with fear as the full meaning of Mylinski’s words sank in, Jacqueline glanced in the direction of the bedroom where her little girl played with her new doll. Biting her bottom lip, she searched Dillon’s face for reassurance, for comfort, for a plan. “What do we do?”
His gut clenched. He didn’t know, but he’d better come up with something. And damned quick. “The first thing we have to do is get Amanda out of the police’s reach. Then we’ll worry about Swain.”
Jacqueline nodded, latching on to his words like a lifeline. “How do we do that? If the police are sweeping the area, we can’t just hop in the car and breeze past them.”
Mylinski cleared his throat. “They have the make, model and license plate number of your rental car.”
“So what do we do?” Her question hung in the air.
Dillon squeezed her hand in his. “We split up. We send Amanda with Al. He can take her out of state and hide her.”
“Send Amanda—” Jacqueline’s back stiffened. “I’m not letting Amanda out of my sight.”
Mylinski stepped toward her. “Listen to Dillon. His plan is sound.”
Dillon grasped both of her hands. “The warrant is issued for you, Jacqueline. Not Amanda. If you two aren’t together, the police can’t take her in. Al can keep her safe.”
Her eyes grew hard as if shutters had slammed closed, not letting his words inside. She shook her head.
Dillon clutched her upper arms. “The police are here, Jacqueline. And Swain’s right on their heels. Sending Amanda with Al is my only plan. If you have another one, spit it out.”
She gasped air like a drowning woman. Breath after breath.
He raised his hand to her jaw and tilted her face up to his. He looked deep into her troubled eyes. “I trust Al, Jacqueline. You can trust him, too.”
Understanding registered in her eyes. As if from sheer will, she drew herself up, swung her gaze to Mylinski and nodded her head. “Take good care of my baby, Detective.”
Mylinski’s hazel eyes met hers. He nodded solemnly. “Like she was my own flesh and blood.”
Chapter Fifteen
The sun’s rays beat hot on Jacqueline’s face and glared off the brown water that swirled around the boat and swept them downstream. Silence hung over the river like a pall, broken only by the scrape and thump of the oars as Dillon dipped them into the water and strained back against them. He’d long since shrugged out of his duster. The coat now lay in a heap on the bench at the nose of the boat, its tattered shoulder drooping over the edge. Sweat glistened in the open collar of his white dress shirt.
She pulled her gaze from him and stared blankly at the stuffed horse in her hands. Amanda had insisted she take Dorsey the Horsey with her. She’d promised Dorsey would help keep her safe. Tears pooled in her eyes as she replayed the memory of Amanda’s brave little face looking back from the window of Mylinski’s sedan as he drove down the rutted dirt road. Her arms ached for the feel of her little girl.
And her heart ached for what she and Dillon had lost.
Pain settled deep into Jacqueline’s bones. It was over. All over. The peace. The happiness. The joy she’d found with Dillon and Amanda in that cabin along the river. All gone. Shattered into jagged pieces that slashed into her heart.
“Amanda will be all right,” Dillon said, breaking the painful silence, his voice thick with sympathy. “Al will take good care of her.”
She looked up. Dillon, the river and the boat were nothing but a watery blur of color through the haze of unshed tears. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. “I know.”
“But knowing doesn’t make letting her go any easier.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She glanced away from him and brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. “None of it is easy. Letting her go. Or letting you go.”
Dillon grimaced. He paused, and for a moment she thought he might drop the oars and take her in his arms once more.
Her heart strained in her chest. What she wouldn’t give to lay her head against his chest and listen to the vital be
at of his heart. To draw in his scent. To taste the magic of his kiss.
But she couldn’t. Not now. Not anymore. She hugged the stuffed horse close. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He tore his eyes from hers and turned to glance downriver.
Jacqueline followed his gaze, glad to have something to focus on, something to take her mind off the ache that burrowed into her heart and echoed in her soul. The stark lines of a railroad bridge loomed ahead, etched against the brown of the river and the blue of the sky.
Dillon turned back to face her and gave the oars a strong pull. “Spring Green is just ahead. We can call for a rental car there and drive to the Iowa border. Amanda and Mylinski will be waiting in Mount Hosmer Park near Lansing, Iowa. Before you know it, you’ll have Amanda back in your arms.”
“And then what? A state line may take care of the police, but it won’t stop Swain.”
“Then you and Amanda disappear until I find some way to nail Swain. Can you stay with your mother in Germany?”
“She’d be thrilled.”
“Then as soon as we pick up Amanda, we’ll get the two of you on a plane.”
And she and Dillon would say goodbye.
He plunged the oars into the water and pulled back, propelling the boat with the current. “The sooner we get off this river, the better. I feel like a sitting-damn-duck out here.”
Pulling her gaze from him, she focused on the trees inhabiting the banks on either side of the river. The river birches with their shaggy bark. The oaks with their gnarled branches. The river bluffs loomed like blue shadows all around them.
A clammy chill spread over her skin. Just this morning she’d thought the river and its banks beautiful, peaceful. But now everywhere she looked she saw Swain hiding among those naked branches, watching them, lining them up in his sights.
“What if we don’t make it? What if the police find us?” Or, worse yet, Swain? She let that thought go unspoken.
Dillon offered her a reassuring smile. “Al is prepared to hide Amanda for as long as it takes for me to straighten out the material-witness-warrant mess. Don’t worry. She’s going to be okay.”
A shot rang out.
“Get down!” He surged toward her and pulled her down to the floor of the rowboat. She flattened against the cold metal, Dillon’s heavy body on top of her, shielding her. Another shot echoed off the bluffs.
Swain had found them.
DILLON REACHED for the gun tucked securely in the waistband of his jeans. His worst nightmare had come true. Damn. A sandbar upstream had forced them to swing wide, away from the protective branches along the shore. Swain had found them on the river where they had no protection, no cover of any kind.
But he hadn’t hit them.
“The bastard’s toying with us. Like an old tomcat toys with an injured mouse.”
Beneath him, Jacqueline nodded. “Maybe he thinks we’ll lead him to Amanda.” Her muffled voice rang with a note of fear.
“Well, he’s wrong. And he’s not going to get us, either.” He raised the Defender above the side of the boat, its grip slippery in his sweaty hand.
The sharp crack of the rifle echoed off the bluffs.
The Defender jumped from his grasp and fell into the river. Pain burned like fire in Dillon’s hand. Blood trickled over his wrist and soaked into the sleeve of his shirt like red dye.
That shot was true enough.
A fourth shot rang out. A bullet ripped through the side of the boat. Water poured in through the hole, arching like the stream of a drinking fountain.
They had to get off this damned river. They had to find cover. “We’re going to have to swim for it.”
Jacqueline stared wide-eyed at the hole only inches from her head. Nodding, she shucked her coat.
“Leave your boots on. They’re hell to swim in, but we’ll need them once we reach shore.”
Another shot tore through the boat’s aluminum hull.
Water filled the boat, inch after frigid inch, cold as death. The boat listed, one side rising in the air. A little more and it would swamp. Dillon grabbed Jacqueline’s hand, squeezing her fingers in his. “We’ll tip out and roll into the river. That way the boat will act like a shield between us and Swain.”
Jacqueline nodded.
“Ready?”
She stared him straight in the eye. Unflinching. A warrior’s look. “Ready.”
As one, they rolled out of the boat and into the river.
The water’s chill grabbed Dillon like a steel fist. The powerful current pulled at him, sweeping him downstream. He held tight to Jacqueline’s hand, her warmth a lifeline in the swirling, frigid water.
Another shot split the air and kicked up a splash of water mere inches from Dillon’s head. His heart slammed against his ribs.
Next to them the disabled boat hovered low in the water, sinking fast. Soon there would be nothing to hide behind. Nothing to protect them from Swain’s fire.
And the cold. Mind-numbing, life-sapping cold. His body ached from it, his hands and feet going numb. Jacqueline shivered next to him, her lips blue. Soon their bodies would start shutting down to conserve heat. They had to get out of the water soon. Very soon. Or they would be just two more chunks of ice floating to the Mississippi.
If Swain didn’t get them first.
The steel beams of the railroad bridge loomed in front of them. “The bridge. We’ll climb out there. The girders will prevent Swain from getting a clear shot.”
Jacqueline nodded and said something, her teeth chattering so loudly he couldn’t make out the words.
The river carried them closer and closer to the bridge. He tensed his muscles, willing them to work despite the cold. As the current swept them under the steel beams, he dropped Jacqueline’s hand and grabbed a cement pylon anchoring the structure in the riverbed. The surface was slimy with algae. His fingers slipped, then caught, digging into a jagged edge.
The river bore Jacqueline along behind him. She grabbed for the pylon. Her fingers slipped. The disabled boat rushed by on the current. He reached for her hand. His numbed fingers closed around her wrist and slipped in the cold.
No. He couldn’t lose her. He forced his fingers to close tighter, grip harder. He pulled her toward him. The current pulled back, threatening to rip her from his grasp. Finally her fingers touched the pylon, gripped and held on.
For a moment all he could do was cling to the slippery cement, breath coming in clouded puffs. His limbs too tired, too numb to move. His mind hazy as if mired in a dream.
Next to him, Jacqueline’s whole body quaked with cold, her skin white, her lips blue. He had to concentrate. He had to think. Somehow, he had to get them out of this damned water.
He reached for the girders above his head, his arms heavy, clumsy with cold. With one hand and then the other, he grasped the frigid steel and lifted his body out of the current.
Throwing a leg over the girder, he reached down for Jacqueline. “Give me your hand.”
She bit her lower lip, stilling its uncontrolled tremble. With a grimace she managed to reach high enough for him to grasp her hand.
He pulled her up to the girder. Slowly they inched up the cold steel framework until they crouched exhausted on the tracks, hidden behind a steel beam. Below, the river swirled and gurgled around the feet of the bridge.
Dillon squinted downriver. The town was still a good distance away, a cluster of houses visible at the foot of a bluff. Swain was likely closing in on them this very moment. Their only chance was to get to town as quickly as possible. “We still have a couple of miles to go. Are you up to it?”
Jacqueline nodded, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile effort to conserve body heat. “I’m up to anything. Just get me to Amanda.” Her words slurred with cold.
They crawled along the tracks, steel colder than ice against their hands and knees. Finally the swell of the bank rose to meet the steel beams. Scraggly sumac closed in on either side of the tracks. No rustle o
f movement. No sign of Swain. Dillon struggled to his feet and helped Jacqueline stand beside him.
The purr of a car motor rose over the vibrato of the rushing current below. Dillon spun in the direction of the sound.
A white Lexus glided up the rough gravel road toward them.
An uneasy tightness descended on the muscles in Dillon’s neck and shoulders. Neil Fitzroy’s car. He would recognize it anywhere. What the hell was Fitz doing here?
The car stopped and the door swung wide. Fitz burst out. Eyebrows pinched and lips locked in a snarl, he stalked down the tracks toward them.
Jacqueline grew rigid beside him. “That’s your boss, isn’t it? What do we do now?” Her voice edged high with panic. Her words slurred with cold.
“Let me handle him.”
She nodded and rubbed her hands up and down her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself.
Dillon zeroed in on the district attorney. “You promised me forty-eight hours, Fitz.”
He came to a halt in front of them, narrowed his eyes on Dillon and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “Where’s the girl, Reese?”
The tension in Dillon’s shoulders sharpened. “She’s safe. Like I’ve been telling you all along, I’ll take care of this. You didn’t have to issue that damned warrant.”
His eyes darted from Dillon to Jacqueline and back again. He cleared his throat, his voice rough with impatience. “Obviously I did. Care to explain why you decided to take a swim in the river in the middle of February, for God’s sake? You’ve forced us to divert valuable resources away from apprehending Swain and his informant.”
“Apprehending?” Dillon latched on to the word. A shot of adrenaline spiked his blood. “Do you know who the informant is?”
“As a matter of fact, we do. Now we just have to find him.”
Him. That ruled out Kit Ashner. “Harrington? Has he disappeared?”
Fitz shook his head curtly, his mouth twitching with disappointment. “Swain’s informant isn’t Harrington.”
His Witness, Her Child Page 17