by V. B. Tenery
Harry’s gaze turned hard. “What do you want with my son?”
Duncan turned, and locked in on Harry. “Get your son, sir.”
Harry disappeared and after a short wait, he appeared with Cody in tow.
“What’s your name?” Ryan asked the boy in a soft tone.
“C-Cody.” He moved close to his mother.
“I’m Officer Ryan, and I’m here to make sure you’re safe. You OK?”
Cody nodded.
“Has anyone hurt you?”
The boy shook his head, but his hands trembled, and he chewed at his lower lip.
I moved into his line of vision. “Cody, turn around and lift your shirt.”
Cody blanched and backed closer to Rachel. Apparently he didn’t recognize me from our earlier encounter. If so, he gave no indication.
Ryan turned a hard glare at me. “You’re out of line, Adams. We’ll handle this.” He turned to the boy. “It’s OK, Cody. No one will harm you. Lift your shirt.”
Harry’s confidence appeared to slip. A red flush started at his neck and spread over his face. He seemed to weigh the danger of refusal. “Do you know who I am? I’m Judge Harold London! You can’t come into my home and undress my son. I’m calling my attorney.” Harry swung around to face his wife. “Bring me the phone.”
Rachel hesitated.
“Bring me the phone!”
The two cops looked at each other, and then back at me. “You sure about this?” Ryan asked.
I couldn’t back down now. “Sure as death and judgment.”
Cody huddled against his mother. Right cheek red, her left arm held at an awkward angle, Rachel reached down, turned Cody around, and raised his shirt. Long black bruises stretched from the top of his shoulder to his waist. Two swollen red welts stood out among the older stripes on his back.
Echoes from my past reared their ugly head, but I pushed them away. This wasn’t the time.
Suppressed anger mottled Harry’s face. Hard dark eyes stared back at me. In that moment, I knew he wouldn’t admit abusing Cody. Survival would supersede any sense of wrongdoing.
Duncan gave his partner a knowing nod and drew Rachel aside.
Ryan returned to the patrol car and came back with a camera and handed it to Duncan. He motioned Rachel and Cody to follow him indoors, presumably to photograph Cody’s bruises.
Ten minutes later, Crown Height’s finest led a cursing, handcuffed, Judge Harold London away, shoved him none too gently into the cruiser’s backseat, and slammed the door.
Large snowflakes fell as the squad car moved down the driveway and onto the street. Arms clasped around her body against the cold, Rachel stood there, Cody at her side, and watched the cruiser until it disappeared from sight.
She looked down at her son. “Do you want something for pain?”
He shook his head. “No, Mom. I’m good. It doesn’t hurt.” He turned and disappeared through the entryway.
For the first time, I noticed Rachel London was a lovely woman. Tall, slim, with classic high cheekbones and large green eyes. Pale, bruised, and frightened, but strikingly beautiful.
I caught her gaze. “If you’d like, I’ll take you and Cody to the hospital or to a shelter—somewhere your husband can’t get to you.”
She gave a short, sardonic laugh that wrinkled her mouth. “That would be useless. Harry knows the location of the Hebron shelter. We don’t need a doctor; we need to get far away from here as fast as possible.”
“Do you have any family?”
She stared at some point in the distance then turned to me. “No. I grew up in an orphanage in Cheyenne.”
Typical abuse victim. A woman alone with no family. “I’m sorry.”
Silence filled the space between us for a moment. She gave a dismissive shrug. “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” Her voice dropped to a husky tone and she looked up at me. “How did you know? Cody didn’t scream.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps you were too frightened to hear.”
“Maybe.” Uncertainty clouded her features. “Mr... I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Adams, Noah Adams. I’m a private investigator.” I searched my jacket and handed her my card.
She studied it with blank eyes and slipped it into her pocket. A shiver ran through her body, her eyes wide. “We have to leave. Right away. Harry will never see the inside of a cell. My husband is a powerful man, Mr. Adams. A charter member of the good-old-boys network downtown. He’ll be home within the hour, and he’ll be raving mad. I don’t even want to think what might happen.” She shivered again. “We’ve left before. Wherever we go, he always finds us.” Angry tears pooled in her eyes. “Harry said he would take Cody away from me if I tried to leave again. I’d go mad knowing Cody had to face his father alone.” Her jaw clenched. “Harry London will be a dead man before I let him take Cody away from me.” Desperation resonated in her stiff posture and jerky motions.
“Murder isn’t the answer. Cody needs you with him, not in prison. There’s a place I can take you, a place where your husband can’t find you. You’ll need to pack extra-warm clothing for the trip. It’s colder in the valley.”
Her eyes brightened. “Where?”
“A friend’s ranch near Green River. I’ll call and make sure it’s all right.” I reached for my cell phone. “I won’t let him hurt either of you again. I promise.”
She stood motionless, not making eye contact.
The toll of clock chimes from the entryway spurred her into action. “Cody, we’re leaving. Gather up any toys you want to bring. Hurry. Your father will be home soon.”
He appeared at her side. “Where are we going?”
She gave him a gentle nudge toward the open doorway. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we must hurry.” Her gaze tracked him down the hallway, and then she followed him inside.
While they packed, I called my friend Emma Hand.
Rachel returned with two suitcases. She blinked rapidly, trying to convey her sense of despair. “I appreciate what you’re doing. I...I have to trust someone. There’s no place else for us to go. But if you let me down and Harry finds us―.” She dropped her gaze and drew a long, shuddering breath. After a pause, she raised her head, and looked into my eyes. “It could cost us our lives.”
CHAPTER TWO
Somewhere on Highway 80
City lights disappeared in the rearview mirror as we trekked west toward Green River. An exhausted Cody fell asleep in the backseat soon after we left Hebron. The glow of the dash lights reflected Rachel huddled close to the door, eyes glued to the blackness, white-knuckled hands clasped in her lap.
My mind focused on the small family. They had lived with pain for a long time. Thank God, Emma agreed to take them in.
Emma Hand’s place sat two hundred miles from Hebron, off Highway 80, the interstate that ran across the lower half of Wyoming. A desolate, sometimes dangerous drive this time of year. Relentless winds sheered across the highway, and violent snow gusts often shut down the road for hours.
God’s hand guided us through the storm. Red taillights from the tanker in front of us cut a path through the darkness, a shield from the heavy storm.
The long day wore on me, and I began to depressurize from the adrenaline rush of the past hours. I glanced at my silent companion. “If you’re in pain, there’s aspirin in the glove box.”
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her left ear. “I’m fine.”
Wind danced flakes on the pavement before us like confetti at a Christmas parade. Through the flurries, I spotted a fast food restaurant sign at the next exit. “I need a caffeine fix. How about you?”
“I’ll take a soda. I’m not much on coffee.”
The drive-thru lane stood empty. I placed the order at the intercom, moved forward, and paid the pimple-faced kid at the first window. He handed me my change and I inched to the second opening.
Rachel’s troubled gaze searched my face. When she spoke, the timbre of h
er voice hardened. “The first time I left Harry, we went to the shelter. I thought we’d be safe there. Of course, as a judge, he knew where to find me. Harry produced a letter from my doctor saying I’d had a nervous breakdown, and he took us back home. I paid dearly for that little indiscretion.”
“Why would your doctor lie? He could lose his medical license.”
“Dr. Saunders is a personal friend of Harry’s. I’m sure my husband applied a great deal of pressure. Anyway, after that I decided to try something new. The last time, Cody and I packed my car after Harry left for work. We headed for California. I’d stashed money for six months so I wouldn’t leave a trail he could follow. Somehow, he knew we had left. Before we reached the state line, the police stopped me and brought us back. That’s when I knew I’d have to kill Harry to get away.”
While we waited for our drinks, I scanned her face in the dim lighting. Where did she find the courage to keep going with such odds against her? She’d kept herself and her son alive through sheer strength and bravery.
“I can only imagine how hopeless you must have felt.”
She gave a short laugh. “Whoever you are, it’s difficult to imagine we could be worse off than we’ve been with Harry.”
Her chest rose as she inhaled a deep breath. “You’re my last hope. I don’t know if you’re a guardian angel or a serial killer—a stranger who showed up at my door. And yet here I am taking my son on a trip to God-only-knows where.”
“I mean you no harm, Rachel. Though a serial killer would probably say that as well.” I managed a half grin. “But killers rarely call the police, give them their license number, and home address before kidnapping victims. You and Cody were in trouble. I wanted to help. It’s as uncomplicated as that. Emma Hand is a fine woman. You’ll be safe there, and you can leave whenever you want.”
She frowned and gave her head a slow shake. “I have an appalling record of making the wrong choices where men are concerned.” She lifted her chin. “But this time, I’m leaving Harry for good, and I don’t intend to become someone else’s victim.”
“Point taken. You’re right to be wary of strangers.”
Wind-driven snow speckled the windshield under the drive-through portico. “Do you have access to a bank account or other funds?”
Her eyes widened.
“You won’t need money at the ranch, but you will need an attorney, and Cody should see a doctor. You’ll have to prove ongoing abuse.”
Her posture eased. “We have medical insurance, but Harry can trace us if we use it. I also have credit cards, but he’ll cancel them before morning. He always cancels the cards when I leave.”
“Half of everything he has belongs to you and Cody. But you’ll have to file for a divorce to get it.”
Her jaw set in an oddly vulnerable way. “Like I would ever do that. Stand alone against Harry in Hebron. He would have Dr. Saunders as a witness. It would be my word against two highly respected professionals. Taking him to court would be the mother of lost causes.”
“I’d be there for you, and I know a good attorney. The sooner you take legal action against your husband, the sooner you’ll be free of him.”
The young woman at the window passed two cups out. I handed one to Rachel, took a sip from mine, and placed it in the console holder. “Do you guys have passports?”
“Why?” she asked.
“Just in case I need to move you into Canada.”
She unsheathed the straw and punched it into her drink. “They’re in a safe at home along with a large amount of cash. Harry brags there is more than a $100,000 dollars inside.” She shook her head. “But I can’t get my part of the money, or the passports. I don’t have the combination.”
Not surprising Harry denied her access. Money meant freedom, and abusers liked to keep their victims dependent.
“Does he open the safe often?”
She considered the question for a moment before she answered. “He opens it every Monday before he goes to work to pull cash for the week. And probably other times I’m not aware of.”
“Where’s the safe?”
“In the library, behind an ugly modern painting.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you crack safes in your spare time.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “I can barely crack an egg.”
“Too bad. I was getting ready to hand you my house key.”
“No promises, but there’s a good chance I can help you get access to the passports and money when you need them.”
She twisted the straw but didn’t drink from it. “As hard as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to start a life for Cody away from his father. I’m a miserable failure as a mother. Cody has lived a nightmare every day of his life—thanks to me.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?”
“I married his father, didn’t I?”
“You can’t change the past, Rachel. You can change what comes next. The blame for Cody’s abuse lies squarely on Harry London’s shoulders. Not yours. Just keep repeating your promise to never again be a victim.”
Hand Me Down Ranch
We reached the ranch just before midnight. The sheep farm lay in a valley surrounded by mountains and a few scattered pines. Next to a nearby barn stood a water tower and large corral, the landscape covered in snow. A low, rambling structure glowed in the distance like a beacon guiding us to a safe haven.
Emma must have heard the car pull in. The front door opened, and a welcoming smile wreathed her face. She swung the door wide for us to enter.
Cold wind nipped at my face and stung my eyes. With Cody in my arms, I hurried inside, making hasty introductions as we crossed the threshold.
Emma pointed down the hallway. “Take the boy to the third bedroom on the left.”
Rachel followed me to the designated room and tucked Cody into bed. She pulled the covers up around his neck and smoothed a damp, blonde curl from his brow. I left her there, dashed back to the car, and brought their luggage inside to the entryway.
Emma gave me a hug when I entered the den. “I’ve made a bed for you. It’s too late to drive back to the city tonight.”
I nodded and hustled close to the fire, absorbing the warmth, letting it thaw the chill that numbed my feet and hands.
She turned to Rachel as she entered. “Your room is next to Cody. I lit the pellet stoves earlier. You should be cozy if you leave the doors open a little.”
“We’ll be fine.” Rachel crossed the room to stand beside me in front of the crackling blaze, her hands outstretched to the heat.
“Can I get you folks some coffee or tea?” Emma asked. “It’ll only take a minute to make.”
Rachel looked utterly undone. The day’s events showed, her mouth drawn tight, her posture strained. “Thanks, but none for me. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed.” She started toward the hallway, and then turned back to Emma. “I’m not good at expressing my feelings, but I appreciate...what you’re doing...for Cody and me. I hope I can repay you, somehow.”
Emma crossed the room and gave Rachel a long hug. “You don’t have to repay me, girl. I’m glad to help. There are blankets in the cedar chest at the foot of the bed if you get cold. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Goodnight,” Rachel said and headed down the hallway.
I soaked up the heat for a few minutes, then picked up the bags and followed her. She’d moved Cody to her bed. Trust didn’t come easy for her.
We met just inside the room. Her eyes misted as she touched my arm. “You’re a good man, Noah. One of the very few I’ve met.”
I console weepy women about as well as I tap dance. I squeezed her hand and withdrew it quickly. She flashed a weak smile and closed the door.
Her brief touch revealed more than I wanted to know about the tragedy of her life—the premature death of her parents, her troubled years with Harry, the ache of disillusionment, and the defensive wall she’d built to ward off pain. The enormity of it staggered me. I leaned against the wa
ll for support and closed my eyes. Adrenalin bubbled in my chest and the horrors of abuse made me gasp for air like a loose vacuum cleaner hose.
After a moment, I inhaled a deep, calming breath, and rejoined Emma. “I’ll take you up on that coffee, unless you’re too tired.”
“You know me, I’m a night owl. I’d like some myself.” She led the way into the kitchen.
The room was large and rustic with a sit-down island in the center. A working kitchen, with brick floors and knotted pine-cabinetry. The large window at the breakfast nook looked out over the distant hills and trees in the daytime. Dark now, reflecting moonlight on the pristine snow.
An attractive widow in her mid-fifties, Emma Hand looked exactly like what she was, a sheep rancher with a big heart and kind face. Slim, with salt-and-pepper gray hair, she moved with easy grace while she fussed over the coffee pot.
I took a seat at the island and filled her in on the circumstances surrounding her guests. “I won’t lie to you, this could be dangerous. Rachel’s husband is a nasty piece of work. He won’t stop until he gets his family back under his control. Feel free to back out of this deal anytime.”
Minutes later, the coffee pot’s red light came on, filling the kitchen with its fresh-brewed aroma. Emma poured two large mugs and placed one in front of me.
My stomach growled a reminder that I’d missed dinner. I nodded toward an apple pie on the counter. “If you’ll cut me a piece of pie, you’ll save a man in the throes of starvation.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in her throat. “Deal. If you really think this London fella is dangerous, I’d best ask Bill to move into the guest house for a while.”
Emma’s son was ex-Army Ranger, and pastor of a local church. He was also a friend. A good man to have on our side. And Rachel needed all the help she could get.
Emma cut a large wedge of pie and set it in front of me, then topped-off my coffee. “I can make you a sandwich if you like.”
I shook my head. “This will do just fine.” I took a bite, and the buttery crust melted in my mouth, the apples sweet and tart. “Delicious. Thanks.”