Family in Hiding

by Valerie Hansen

  “You okay?” Dylan asked.

  Why did he have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he be standoffish and aloof the way he used to be?

  Because he’s trying to drive you crazy, her imagination replied cynically. And he’s doing a wonderful job of it.

  “Grace?”

  “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

  They reached the covered pavilion. Grace turned to her family. “Put Brandon down so he can go with Kyle and Beth.”

  The three-year-old clung to his daddy’s neck. “No. I wanna stay here.”

  More tenderly than Grace had ever seen Dylan behave in the past, he set the child on his feet and kissed his damp cheek. “I’ll be right here, buddy. You go with Kyle and your sister. Mommy and I need to talk.”

  The child clapped his hands over his ears and sniffled. “I won’t listen. See?”

  Kyle took him by the wrist and tugged him away, letting Beth follow at her own pace while Brandon began to whimper. Grace couldn’t tell what the older boy said to quiet his brother but the whining stopped as if someone had shut off a faucet.

  “All right. We’re alone,” Grace said. “The park closes in forty-five minutes. I’ll give you thirty to tell me what’s going on and then the kids and I are out of here.”

  Dylan shoved his hands into the pockets of the silky jacket and paced away from her before turning. “It’s complicated. I hardly know where to start.”

  “Maybe I can make it easier for you,” she said wryly. “I already know you were up to your neck in illegal adoptions because the police interviewed me about it. What more can there be?”

  “Plenty,” Dylan said, swallowing so hard she could see his Adam’s apple move. “And it’s much worse than I’d thought. Learning the truth is what finally decided it for me.”

  “Just wanting to be an honest, upright citizen wasn’t enough for you?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Dylan admitted, “although I’ve since had a long talk with myself and I promise I’ll never step that close to the line again.”

  “Close? Ha! You were balancing on the sharp edge of a knife blade, Dylan. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall off onto the wrong side long before this.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. If I had it all to do over again I hope I’d make better choices.” He studied the planks at his feet. “When it all began it seemed innocent enough. My part in it was technically within the law.”

  “Then why are we having this talk? What’s changed?”

  “I have,” Dylan said. He removed the dark glasses and looked straight at her.

  Grace was taken aback by the pain she saw in his expression, in his eyes. If they had not had the history of the past twelve years between them, she would have believed him in a heartbeat. “Why?”

  Watching his internal struggle, Grace was almost tempted to go to him and put her arms around his waist. She resisted. Waiting. Listening. Never dreaming he’d have anything earth-shattering to reveal.

  When Dylan said, “Because the children involved came from a baby-stealing ring,” she had to put a hand on the railing to keep her balance.

  “Babies?”

  It was barely spoken aloud, yet Dylan nodded. “Yes. I just found out. That’s why I decided to volunteer to provide the proof the police need to put a stop to it.” He paused. “I was hoping you’d be pleased.”

  “Flabbergasted is more like it,” Grace said, glancing over his shoulder to watch her own children play. “I can’t even imagine what those poor mothers went through.”

  “I can. I spoke with a friend of one of them on the phone. She got involved when she was a missionary in Mexico. The authorities are still trying to trace a baby she swears was taken, brought to the States and sold.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “There’s more.” He reached for her hand and she let him grasp it for a few seconds before pulling away and folding her arms.

  “Go on. It can’t get much worse.”

  “Yes, it can. One of the men who had been trying to silence her—his name was Flores—was arrested and then murdered. In jail. So the authorities are no closer to nailing the higher-ups than they were before.”

  A heaviness settled in her chest. “You know who they are, don’t you?”

  “I have a fair idea about one or two. There’s still a lot of legwork to do but I think I’m the key. So do the cops.” He put his hand in his pants’ pocket and pulled out the flash drive to show her. “This is why I’m not in custody today. I was picking up this evidence for them.”

  “Now what?” With a shiver she couldn’t stop, Grace began to scan the nearby grounds as if sensing imminent threats.

  “I keep a low profile and wait, I guess. Once I’ve turned over these files to the cops they won’t need me anymore.” Dylan snorted derisively. “Of course I’ll have to find another job. I doubt my bosses will condone my change of heart.”

  “Will you be safe?”

  “Don’t tell me you care.”

  “Of course I do. The kids are already struggling to adjust because you’re not in their lives. What will it do to them if you go to prison?”

  “I don’t expect that to happen,” Dylan said. “At least I hope it won’t since I have something crucial to plea bargain with.”

  “Does anybody else know you have evidence?”

  “Not directly. I was noticed when I went by the office this morning but my regular files had been cleaned so nobody can possibly imagine what I was doing.”

  “You hope.” Grace’s emotions were on a rollercoaster and she could envision a precipice at the end where the track vanished. And Dylan with it.

  She started to pace. “What am I supposed to do about the divorce if you’re not around?”

  “Go ahead without me,” Dylan said. He shrugged so nonchalantly she wanted to scream before he added, “Of course you could postpone the final decree and see if you really need it.”

  “Because you expect to be murdered like that other witness who was killed in jail? Is that what you were thinking when you said I might become a widow?”

  “Let’s just say there’s an element of risk.”

  His nonchalant attitude galled. “I can’t believe this is happening, Dylan. If you don’t care about yourself, think of your children.”

  “I am thinking of them. And of all those other children whose futures changed because of me.” He began to pace the gazebo floor, hitting his opposite palm with his balled fist.

  “What, exactly, did you do?” she asked, worried that the answer was going to hurt worse than not knowing. Merely being associated with Dylan at this point was making her feel sullied.

  “The fewer details you have, the better,” he said.

  “Now you’re sounding like the Dylan McIntyre I know,” Grace countered. “Always in charge, always sure nobody else is smart enough to grasp fundamentals as cleverly as you do.”

  Returning to stand in front of her, toe to toe, he grasped her shoulders. The power and resolve emanating from him momentarily took her breath away. “Stop judging me by past performances and listen to me, Grace. I only came to tell you in person because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me otherwise. I’m not going to give you any more details because I don’t want to put you or the kids in danger.”

  “How do you know it isn’t already too late?” she asked, ruing the tremor in her voice and hoping she looked far more courageous than she felt.

  “Because everybody knows we’ve been estranged for a long time and are almost divorced. And, because nobody needs to know how the authorities are finally going to be able to prove who I answered to, why I did what I did.”

  She twisted out of his grip. “Get real, Dylan. If these criminals are smart enough to steal babies and get away with it, what makes you th
ink they won’t suspect you of divided loyalties?”

  She watched his jaw muscles working for long seconds before he spoke again. “I have no choice,” he insisted. “Even if I tried to back down at this point there’s no way I could go to work and behave as if nothing has changed. It was hard enough to casually walk through the office this morning.” He spread his arms, palms toward her. “Look at me, Grace. Believe how sorry I am. You have to.”

  Before she could form a suitable answer, there was a startling noise; a distant ping that made her husband jump.

  Dylan suddenly launched himself at her, carrying them both to the wooden floor and knocking the air out of Grace. “Get off me! What’s the matter with you?”

  “A shot! Didn’t you hear it?”

  “I heard something. How do you know...?”

  “The kids!” he rasped into her ear. “Go get the kids out of here while I draw their fire.”

  Stunned, Grace nevertheless rolled onto her knees as soon as Dylan began to stand. Watching him crouch behind the railing as if those widely spaced boards would afford adequate protection from another bullet, she was astounded by the way her heart went out to him in spite of everything.

  “Now,” Dylan shouted over his shoulder.

  He began to sprint away.

  Grace scrambled in the opposite direction toward her children. Kyle had apparently noticed the furor and had gathered his siblings together inside the walls of a miniature fort. Brandon was cooperating but Beth was screeching in protest.

  Grace scooped up Brandon, grabbed Beth’s hand and barely paused before heading out the opposite side of the child-size structure and ducking into thick foliage along a garden path.

  Shaking so badly she could hardly stand, she hunkered down, pulling all three children close. “Shush. We’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. Don’t make noise or they’ll find us.”

  Only Kyle seemed to grasp the reality behind her actions. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Never mind that. Just do as I say.”

  The slim ten-year-old started to rise. Grace grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back down. “No! You have to stay with me.”

  “But, Dad...”

  “Your father got himself into this mess and he says he can get himself out of it, so we’re going to let him.” She fixed her most convincing parental stare on her eldest child, thankful to see him wilt from its effects.

  What she wasn’t willing to admit, to Kyle or even to herself, was how worried she was for Dylan’s well-being. For his future. And for the rest of the family.

  Positive her brood would stay put, at least for the present, Grace reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out her cell phone and pressed 9-1-1. Somebody had to be practical and behave like a sensible adult. While Dylan was acting as if he thought he could outrun bullets, she was going to summon proper assistance.

  As soon as the call was answered, Grace began with, “I’m at the botanical gardens. We think somebody is shooting at us!”

  * * *

  Dylan was torn. Should he circle back to rejoin his family in the hope he could protect them? Or should he stay as far away from Grace and the kids as possible? Neither choice seemed foolproof.

  He’d been listening carefully and had heard no more shots. Was it possible the whole incident had been imagined? Was he so mentally unbalanced from the stress of finding out what he’d done that he was hearing things? Ducking phantom attackers? Making a mountain out of a molehill?

  His jaw clenched and he shook his head. This was no trivial matter. Even if his own life wasn’t currently in jeopardy, that didn’t mean he and his family would remain safe in the future. Nobody who had interrogated him had mentioned the possibility of going into the Witness Protection Program but surely that was an option. It had to be, particularly since other erstwhile eyewitnesses had been assassinated while in police custody.

  Now that he thought about it, perhaps he should withhold his evidence until that idea had been discussed and his wife and children had been offered sanctuary.

  The distant wail of sirens told him he had not been the only garden visitor who had sensed trouble. In a way, that was comforting. At least he could be certain he hadn’t imagined the attack.

  Dylan stepped onto the nearest path and started to jog toward the gates, figuring to intercept the police, explain what was going on and direct them to Grace and the kids.

  Rounding the final corner he spied several patrol cars entering the grounds. He raised an arm and waved to get their attention.

  A crack of sound split the atmosphere.

  Dylan felt as if someone had smacked his forearm with a baseball bat.

  He faltered. Staggered. Grabbed his wrist with his opposite hand and yelled, “Over here!” at the top of his lungs.

  When he looked down, there was blood dripping off his fingers and dotting the path at his feet.

  THREE

  The wail of multiple sirens settled Grace’s nerves considerably. Nevertheless she waited until she spotted a man in a police uniform before she stepped out to show herself and the children.

  “You the lady who called this in?” the crew-cut officer asked.

  “Yes.” Grace pointed at the gazebo. “We were right over there when we were shot at.”

  “You and these kids?” He sounded incredulous.

  “No. Me and my estranged husband. He’s around here somewhere.”

  “You sure it wasn’t him who took a potshot at you?”

  “It couldn’t have been. We were together when it happened.”

  “What does your husband look like? How was he dressed?”

  “He’s taller than you by a couple of inches,” she reported, failing to add that Dylan also looked far more masculine and mature. “He was wearing a red baseball jacket and cap.”

  “You’d better come with me, ma’am.” Taking one last assessing look at their surroundings, he was apparently satisfied enough to holster his sidearm. “This way.”

  “Have you seen him? His name is Dylan McIntyre. I’m Grace.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe he’s in the parking lot with some of my team.”

  “Is he all right?”

  When she got no answer, she grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “Tell me? Was he shot?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “We’re almost there, Mrs. McIntyre. He can tell you himself.”

  Breath whooshed out of Grace’s lungs. If Dylan could talk, then he was at least alive. At that moment she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug him for surviving or to smack him for exposing his family to such danger. Actually, doing both sounded best.

  She and the slim officer cleared the exit gates together. Three patrol cars, one black van and an ambulance were parked at intervals, with the police situated closest to the gates.

  Grace’s rapid scan of all the vehicles led her attention to the open rear doors of the ambulance where Dylan was being treated. He had removed the silky jacket and rolled up the right sleeve of his white dress shirt. The closer she got, the better she could tell that there was blood staining the cuff.

  She stopped and turned to the closest person, a young woman wearing a tailored suit and mirrored glasses. Her dark hair was pulled back severely and Grace could see part of a holster peeking out from beneath her jacket.

  “Excuse me,” Grace began, waiting for a smile she didn’t get, then continuing despite its lack. “That’s my husband over there and I don’t want to scare the kids. Could you watch them for just a few minutes so I can go punch him in the nose?”

  That candid comment brought a twitch of mirth to the other woman’s face. “Only if you leave some of him for me and my partner.” She offered her hand. “U.S. Marshal Serena Summers. The guy over th
ere hovering behind the paramedics is my partner, Marshal Josh McCall.”

  “Dylan’s in a lot of trouble, isn’t he?”

  The marshal nodded. “How much do you know already?”

  “Only that he helped arrange some adoptions that weren’t strictly legal.” Grace lowered her voice to speak more privately, hoping the children couldn’t overhear. “He just told me some of the babies they placed were stolen. Can that be true?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case. Maybe we can talk later, after Mr. McIntyre finishes giving us an official statement.” She motioned to a nearby uniformed officer. “Put these kids in the van and show them all our whistles and bells. Keep them entertained and see that they stay put until I finish up out here.”

  Grace frowned at her. “Hold on a second. I just wanted you to watch them while I talked to my husband, not take them into custody.”

  “It’s for their own good. You want them to be safe, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but...”

  “Then bear with me, Mrs. McIntyre. May I call you Grace?”

  “You know my first name?”

  Marshal Summers nodded sagely. “Actually, I probably know more about you and your family than you do.”

  “Why does that not make me feel all warm and fuzzy?”

  Giving a subdued chuckle, the marshal glanced at her and smiled. “I like your attitude. Reminds me of myself.”

  Grace mirrored the smile, partly in reply and partly because she wanted to put her children at ease. “It’s okay,” she told them, primarily concentrating on Kyle. “You can be in charge until I’m done checking on your father.”

  “Is—is he okay?”

  “You can see for yourself. He’s sitting right over there talking to the ambulance attendants. Now go with this policeman and be good for him, hear?”

  The child’s nod was reluctant, yet sufficed.

  “He’s a stubborn one, isn’t he?” Marshal Summers asked as they walked away.

  “Kyle’s hardheaded, all right. Just like his daddy.”

  “What about you, Grace?”

  “Me? Why?”