Expose

by Saranne Dawson

  “Are you sure it’s a clinic?” the older woman asked. “Could they have put him in a foster home?”

  Kate’s mind spun. Perhaps she’d been wrong to believe the place would be an institution. After all, Tony had said that only a few kids had been sent there. “I guess they could have,” she nodded. “But I think he has some mental problems. Is there anyone in the vicinity who takes in emotionally disturbed kids?”

  “Well, the reason I asked is that there’s this place—the old Cameron farm. They kind of keep to themselves, but I know there are some kids out there who are retarded or something.”

  “Are these local people?” Kate asked, trying not to let her hopes rise. “Cameron, you said?”

  “Camerons were the people who used to own the farm. But he died a while back and then she sold the farm and went to live with her sister. The people who bought it aren’t from around here.”

  “How long ago did they buy it?” Kate asked, thinking that a trip to the county records office might be in order.

  She was told that the farm had been sold about two years ago. When they gave her directions to it, she realized that she must have passed it earlier. It was probably no more than an hour from New Leaf. She paid for her lunch, thanked the women and took off, nearly certain that it would be the place she was looking for.

  She found the farm without difficulty. There was an old, rusting mailbox with the name “Cameron” just barely visible on its side. She stopped opposite the long driveway and stared at the big old white frame farmhouse. All the buildings on the property, including a big barn, were dilapidated and in need of painting, and she saw no evidence of livestock. The fields on both sides were unplanted, but there was a large garden just barely visible near the back of the house.

  As she sat there, trying to figure out her next move, two figures emerged from the house and came slowly down the porch steps. At first, Kate thought they were elderly, but as she peered at them more closely, she became less certain. Both were male, and despite their slow movements, something suggested they were young.

  They walked over to a large tree and sat down in some lawn chairs. Kate squinted, but still couldn’t see them clearly. Nevertheless, she remained convinced that they were young—probably in their teens.

  She thought about faking car trouble and going to the house for help, but decided instead to go check on the ownership of the property. Pretending to have car trouble could be risky—especially if someone offered to check it out for her.

  AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, she was back. The county records office had yielded the information that the farm had been bought for cash by Franklin and Elizabeth Furman, which meant nothing at all except for the cash part. Few people bought property for cash.

  She parked just a short distance away from the farm and got out, carrying a newly purchased hammer and a box of nails. She was hoping that no Good Samaritan would come along, who might find it suspicious that she was pounding a nail into a tire.

  No one stopped, but driving a nail into the tire proved to be more difficult than she’d expected. Furthermore, even after she’d gotten it in, the tire didn’t immediately go flat. She tossed the hammer and box of nails into some weeds and got back in the car, hoping it would go flat as she drove. She’d already disposed of the jack in a Dumpster behind the K Mart where she’d bought the hammer and nails.

  The tire obligingly went flat just as she saw the mailbox up ahead. So far, so good, she thought, pulling off the road across from the driveway. Just for effect, in case anyone was watching from the house, she got out and looked at the tire, then opened the trunk. As it swung open, she heard a sound behind her and turned to see an old station wagon pulling up beside her.

  “Looks like you got a flat,” the elderly driver said, stating the obvious.

  “I’m afraid so.” Kate waved an arm toward the farmhouse. “I already called a garage. But thanks for stopping.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the man left, then hurried across the road and started up the driveway to the farmhouse. By the time she reached the yard, she had begun rather belatedly to worry about her safety. No one knew where she was, and if this place did have some connection with New Leaf…

  Stop it! she ordered herself. You always do this. Wait until you’ve committed yourself to some course of action before considering the wisdom of it. No wonder Sam thinks you’re in need of protection. You need to be protected from yourself!

  But all the while, she kept walking in long, confident strides toward the front porch. Then, just as she reached the steps, two teenage boys came around the side of the house. Kate immediately recognized them as being the figures she’d seen earlier. She smiled at them, but got only vacant stares in return. One of the boys had a pronounced facial tic, and the other kept rubbing his hand against his thigh with a movement that seemed uncontrollable.

  “Hi!” she said brightly. “I was hoping to use the phone. I’ve got a flat tire and there’s no jack in the car.”

  The boys just stared at her. Drugs, she thought uneasily. That could account for the tic and the repetitive motion. She knew that some of the more powerful psychoactive medications could cause such involuntary movements.

  “There’s a phone,” the one boy said finally in a slow, solemn tone. “But they don’t let us use it.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Kate asked. “Do you mean your parents?”

  Then, just as both boys shook their heads, the front door opened and a rather severe-looking middle-aged woman appeared. Kate greeted her and told her her story.

  The interior of the house was a pleasant surprise. It was well furnished and very clean. Kate followed the woman and the aroma of freshly baked bread to a big country kitchen, where the woman indicated a phone on the wall and gave Kate a directory, then turned her attention back to her baking.

  As she called a local garage, Kate surreptitiously studied the kitchen. Attached to the nearby refrigerator was a chore list. Four boys’ names were on it—unfortunately, first names only. She quickly committed them to memory.

  The garage promised to send someone right away, and Kate hung up, wondering if she could prolong her stay here. She thanked the woman profusely, then asked if she might use the bathroom. She hoped it would be upstairs, which might give her a chance to do some snooping.

  “It’s the door under the stairs,” the woman told her, ending those hopes.

  After using the bathroom, Kate decided that she’d better leave before she did something to arouse the woman’s suspicions. But just as she started to the kitchen to thank the woman again, she heard a series of thumping noises upstairs, accompanied by muffled cries. The woman hurried from the kitchen, headed for the stairs.

  “Is something wrong?” Kate asked as the woman started up the steps. “Can I help?”

  The woman shook her head and soon disappeared from view. Kate waited near the front door, listening. After a few seconds, she heard the woman’s voice, speaking in low, soothing tones. And then she heard another voice.

  “Scared! They’re coming for me!”

  Kate drew in a sharp breath at the anguish in that voice, which sounded both male and young.

  “He doesn’t like being up there. I don’t, either.”

  Kate whirled around to find one of the boys she’d met outside standing in the doorway.

  “Why is he up there?” she asked.

  “He’s having a bad spell,” the boy replied in his slow voice. “I had one last week.”

  “Is he your brother?”

  The boy shook his head.”He just lives here—like Jim and Tony and me.”

  “Why do you live here?” Kate asked gently, keeping her voice low so the woman upstairs wouldn’t hear her. Then, when she got only that vacant stare, she asked if he’d been at New Leaf. This time, the boy frowned slightly, as though the name were vaguely familiar. Kate was about to explain what it was when she heard the woman start down the stairs behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman s
aid. “I guess I should have explained that we run a foster home for disturbed children. David, the boy upstairs, is having a bad spell. But I just gave him some more medication and he’ll be fine.”

  “They must keep you very busy,” Kate said, for lack of anything else to say.

  The woman sighed. “They do, but they’re good kids.” She took the hand that the boy had been rubbing against his thigh. He didn’t protest, but as soon as she let it go, he resumed the motion. “Why don’t you go pick some flowers, Stephen? We need some fresh ones for the table.”

  Stephen nodded and left. The woman watched him with an expression of sadness. Kate asked her if he was on medication, too.

  “Yes. That’s what makes him rub his leg like that,” she replied. “But he has to have it, or he could get violent.”

  “Will he get better?” Kate asked, horrified to think that someone so young might have to suffer his entire life like that.

  “Maybe.” The woman sighed. “The doctors keep trying different medicines.”

  A silence fell between them and Kate knew she’d better go. By the time she reached the car, the tow truck had arrived, and not long after, she was on her way back to Washington, thinking about what she’d learned—if anything. What troubled her most was the woman’s remark about the boys becoming violent, because that immediately brought Charles Scofield to mind.

  Chapter Seven

  It was dusk by the time Kate reached the beltway. She automatically headed for home until she realized that she needed to return the rental car. Taking it home would mean that Sam would see it, and then she’d have some explaining to do. Hopefully, by the time he received his credit card bill, it would all be over.

  The agency, which was part of a car dealership, was closed, but Kate had been told to leave the keys under the visor and then lock the car. She did that, then set off on the two-block walk to the Metro station. By now, it was full dark, and although the street was well lit, it was deserted at this hour, with most of the businesses having closed for the day.

  Later, she would wonder how she first knew she was being followed. But she’d gone less than a block before she became aware that someone was behind her. Tremors of fear crawled along her spine, but she kept walking until she reached the corner, where she turned with seeming casual-ness. A shadowy male figure was approaching. Traffic was fairly heavy, but Kate knew that she couldn’t count on any help from drivers who were no more likely than she to notice a pedestrian in trouble.

  The light changed and Kate hurried across the street. One block ahead, she could see the sign for the Metro. But now she worried that she might be in even more danger if she went down there. It wasn’t likely to be crowded at this hour of the night, although there might be a cop on duty on the platform.

  She kept walking, her heart thudding noisily and her mouth filled with the metallic taste of fear. Then, when she was less than a hundred yards from the station entrance, a car suddenly swerved into the curb just in front of her!

  The passenger door flew open and a man leaped out. Kate whirled and saw the other man moving fast. There was no time to think. She turned and ran toward the Metro entrance, praying that a cop would be down there—or at least someone who could help her.

  The escalator was long and steep and moving slowly. Kate stepped onto it and turned to see both men heading toward her. They were already starting to run down the moving steps. She ran, too, but she was too late! About two-thirds of the way down, one of them caught her by the arm.

  The motion of the escalator threw them all off balance, which was probably the only thing that saved her. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Kate pushed the man who’d grabbed her against his companion, who was a few paces behind on the narrow steps. Then she ran headlong down the remaining stairs, screaming for help.

  One of them caught up to her again and this time grabbed at her shoulder bag. Kate swiveled to free herself from the strap and lost her footing. The edges of the metal stairs dug painfully into her body as she tumbled toward the bottom. And then everything went black as her head struck the concrete floor.

  KATE STRUGGLED to pull free from the hand that held her. She didn’t know why she was frightened; she was operating on pure instinct. But the other hand merely tightened its grip.

  “Kate, it’s Sam! You’re safe now.”

  She blinked a few times, trying to bring him into focus. The voice was definitely Sam’s, but she didn’t believe her ears—especially since her eyes refused to focus. The dark figure bending over her bore a faint resemblance to Sam, but she didn’t understand how he could be there.

  But why couldn’t he be there? Figuring that out took what seemed to be a very long time, during which the two Sams more or less merged into one—a Sam whose blue eyes were filled with concern. It all flashed through her mind: the man following her, the car, the struggle on the escalator, her fall. She groaned and Sam leaned closer. Worry lines furrowed his dark brows.

  ‘‘Kate, nothing’s broken, but you’ve got a lot of bad bruises and a concussion. Dammit, what were you doing there?”

  She stared at him, trying to put words together carefully. He separated and then merged again. “Water,” she croaked. Her mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton.

  He picked up a pitcher from the bedside table and poured some water into a glass. She tried to pull herself into a sitting position, but fell back quickly as pain wracked her body. Everything hurt—even her teeth.

  Sam set down the glass and pressed the lever that raised the head of the bed. Only then did it dawn on Kate that she was in a hospital. She hated hospitals. She’d hated them ever since she’d spent a week in one at the age of eight, when she’d broken a leg and an arm in a bicycle accident. Her cousin had dared her to ride down the steepest hill in town, and being Kate, she’d done it.

  Sam held the glass to her lips and she drank. Some water dribbled down her chin and he wiped it off gently.

  “Get me out of here!” she demanded.

  Sam grinned. “Somehow I guessed those would be your first words.”

  “You have a wonderful bedside manner, Sam. You should have been a doctor like your mother wanted.”

  “Well, at least we know that a bump on the head hasn’t affected your tongue,” he replied, still grinning.

  “My tongue and my brain are fine and I want out of here.”

  “So get up and leave. I’m sure everyone will enjoy the view of your charming bare butt while you walk home.”

  Kate looked down in disgust at her hospital gown. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Locked up, along with your purse. Have you had enough time to come up with a good explanation as to why you left your car at the Post and rented a car for the day?”

  “I don’t feel well,” she muttered.

  Sam got up and pushed back the chair he’d drawn up to the bed. “Fine. You just rest for a while and we’ll talk later.” He started toward the door.

  “Get back here and take me home!” Kate started to tug at the sheets, ignoring the pain. “Sam, you’re a real—”

  She stopped abruptly as a white-coated figure appeared in the doorway.

  “This is Dr. Wakefield, and he’ll decide when you can come home,” Sam said with a decidedly smug smile as he started out once again.

  “Don’t you dare leave without me!”

  “I’m not leaving. I just want to get some coffee.”

  Kate endured the doctor’s questions and poking and prodding and other indignities, then demanded to be released.

  “Well, I suppose you can go if your husband is able to keep an eye on you,” the doctor said calmly. “There’s really nothing we can do for you here. You’re going to have some dizzy spells and some double vision and nausea for a few days, and I suggest that you soak in a warm tub to help the body aches.”

  “He’s not my husband,” Kate muttered. “He’s my ex-husband.”

  “I see. Well, uh, if he had anything to do with this…”


  “He didn’t.”

  “If I had, it wouldn’t have happened,” Sam said as he came back into the room.

  “Macho man,” Kate grumbled as she started to get out of bed.

  “She isn’t always like this,” Sam said, ignoring her as he turned to the doctor. “She just hates hospitals.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t like them much myself,” the doctor said with a smile, then repeated to Sam what he’d told her.

  Sam nodded. “I’ve been through the same symptoms myself. I’ll take good care of her.”

  “When did you ever have a concussion?” Kate asked as she stood up rather shakily, awkwardly clutching the open back of her gown.

  “In Bosnia—about a year ago. Someone took exception to my presence.”

  “I didn’t know about that,” Kate said, frowning at him as she thought about those lost years. What else had happened to him? He obviously hadn’t spent all his time running around Europe with his supermodel.

  “I’ll tell you all my war stories while you recover,” Sam promised, opening the closet and getting out her clothes. “And you can tell me yours.”

  The doctor left and Sam helped her get dressed. Then an orderly appeared with a wheelchair, and a short time later, Kate was on her way home in Sam’s Porsche, her bruised mind already struggling with the question of what to tell him.

  “KATE, IT’S TIME to end this. No story is worth your life.” “Hah! You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your story.” Sam stared at her in silence for a long time, then slowly shook his head. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. But it isn’t my story—it’s yours.” “That’s right. And I’m not quitting!” Sam sank to the floor beside the bathtub where she was trying to soak away the torments her body was inflicting upon her. She’d already told him everything. She still believed that the source of the attacks was Newbury or Armistead, though some nagging doubts remained.

  But she knew Sam. He was focused like a laser beam on the congressman and his chief of staff. It was both his strength and his weakness that he could concentrate like that, and she knew that he’d never considered that the New Leaf story could be the source of their problems.