“Hand me my coffee, will you?” Flynn held out his hand, not taking his eyes away from the road. She gave him his go-cup—two creams, two sugars—and watched while he drank. He handed it back to her. “Do you have any way to make your ex sign a custody modification?”
“I’ll tell him if he doesn’t, I’m not signing over those business assets.”
“But if you don’t hand those over, he’s taking Hudson and Genny to California with him. Right?”
She opened her mouth. Shut it again. “Oh, shit.” She dropped her head against the seat back. “Oh, shit. He’s got no reason to sign a modification now. I’m going to become his piggy bank, aren’t I? He’s going to threaten to haul the kids back to California every time he needs money.”
“Is there anything your lawyer can pin on him? Is he behind in child support?”
She rocked her head back and forth. “Nothing. He wouldn’t owe any child support unless I legally became the primary custodian. Which is just one more reason not to sign a modification.” The rain flashed gold and silver in the headlight beams. “I’m going to have to move back to California.” The truth of her situation was a dull weight on her chest.
“Let’s not jump the gun. Let me think about what we can do.”
Flynn’s voice was warm and reassuring. And Hadley wanted to be warm and reassured. She wished she could believe there was a way out. “You always read about cases where some guy is holding custody over his ex-wife’s head, and you think, Why don’t you just let him have them? After two months he’ll be begging you to take them back. Then you’re the ex-wife in the story, and you realize you can’t. You just can’t.” She looked at Flynn. “I can’t have Hudson and Genny thinking I’d abandon them.” Her eyes burned. Flynn laid his hand, open, on the console between them and she took it without hesitation. She linked her fingers through his, for once not weighing or worrying what it meant.
“You’re not going to give up the kids. And you’re not going to have to move back to California. I promise you, we won’t let it happen.”
Once they had taken the Millers Kill exit, the drive became two-handed and white-knuckled again. Route 9 was a pair of ruts dug through ice so thick the rest of the road was pale gray. Flynn hunched forward, his eyes fixed on the narrow tracks, all his attention focused on keeping them in line. Hadley knew if they bumped over the edges and onto the ice, they’d keep on sliding until they lodged in the thick snow at the side of the highway, and they wouldn’t be getting out.
Sacandaga Road was even worse, an expanse of icy wasteland so unmarked by plows she couldn’t tell where the road ended and the fields on either side began. “There it is.” Flynn sounded like a swimmer almost out of strength spotting the shore. Hadley hadn’t seen the resort’s sign until he mentioned it. The lights that normally illuminated its tasteful carved wooden face were out. She finally registered the time. “Are we going to be able to make it up there?” The driveway—it was really more of a road—snaked two miles up the mountain before reaching the hotel complex.
“We’re going to try.” Flynn inched the Aztek onto the drive and downshifted. The engine grumbled with a vibration that went up Hadley’s spine. The SUV lurched forward and began climbing the hill. “Hah!” Flynn grinned, showing his eyeteeth. “Gravel over the ice. Thank you, Algonquin Waters.”
“Gravel? Like … part of a roadbed?”
“Yep. One or two dump-truck loads, I’ll bet. Very expensive, but you gotta make sure the rich people can drive in and out.”
As they drove higher and deeper into the mountain, Hadley’s heart began racing. It had taken them so long to get here, the normally twenty-minute drive eating up nearly two hours. If she and Flynn had misjudged, if Dylan had already gone to the airport or the train station with the kids, they would never reach him in time.
The drive leading to the grand entrance was designed so that the heavy forest fell away at the last S-curve, and the resort spread out to be viewed in all its glory. Tonight, though, Hadley could barely make it out. Flynn rolled into the lower parking lot and killed the engine. He leaned back, shook out his hands and rolled his neck, then twisted to look at her. “Are we going in as cops? Or as civilians?”
“Oh. That’s a tough question.” She glanced to his plastic lock box, where they had stored their weapons for the drive. Tempting, but … “Civilians,” she said. “I don’t want there to be any hint of police coercion. Even though having the extra authority is nice.”
“You already have authority.” He smiled a little, his blue eyes warm. “You don’t need the suit and badge to make it work.”
She ducked her head.
“Who’s the man?”
“Oh, God, Flynn.”
“C’mon. Who’s the man?”
“I’m the man,” she mumbled.
“I can’t hear you, Officer Knox! Who’s the man?”
“I’m the man! I am the Man! I am the Man!” She laughed for the first time in what felt like days and threw her arms around Flynn, easy, just like taking his hand had been, no second guesses, no regrets. “Thank you, Flynn. You didn’t have to do any of this. Thank you.”
“Hey, now. Hey.” He patted her back awkwardly. “We’re partners.” He pulled away to look into her face. “That means I’ve got your back. Always.”
The interior of the SUV felt close and hot. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded.
“Why don’t you grab the Maglite and see if you can spot his rental while I get my parka on?”
She nodded again, thankful for a moment alone to get her bearings. The cars in the lot were anonymous in their icy shrouds, identifiable only as shapes: sedan, SUV, station wagon. She trained the flashlight’s powerful beam on the bumpers instead. Rental companies’ in-and-out bar codes were brightly reflective. She saw one—an SUV—and then another, a four-door that on closer inspection was a Ford. The third car with a Hertz sticker was a Lexus. She beat against the windows, shattering ice until she could illuminate the interior. When she saw the Dragon Ball manga, she bent over, light-headed with relief.
“Hadley? Are you okay?”
She straightened. “This is Dylan’s rental car. Hudson left one of his comic books in the backseat.”
“Good.” In the scatter from the flashlight, Flynn looked grim. Purposeful. “Let’s go get your kids back.”
14.
The young man who popped out of the office in response to Hadley’s bell ring looked at the two of them with dismay. “Oh.” He glanced at the door. “Um. We’re not accepting any new guests tonight.”
“We’re not—” Flynn began.
Hadley cut him off. “You’ve got to be kidding. On a night like this? People could die out there on those roads.” The receptionist sounded guilty, which was just the way she wanted him. She figured she’d have a better chance of getting what she wanted if he was off-kilter and apologetic.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, really I am. It’s just that we’re running on generator power, and the manager was worried we wouldn’t have enough if we let more…” He seemed to realize this was going to sound bad however he phrased it.
“My friend here gave me a ride all the way from Albany so I could meet up with my husband and children. I was going to stand him a night. Are you telling me he’s going to have to go back out into that mess?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Flynn arching a brow.
“Um … if it were up to me, ma’am…”
“I can’t believe this. You’re going to throw my friend out into the teeth of the storm just to ensure some spoiled brat on a ski trip has enough juice to blow-dry her hair? I promise you my family will never vacation here again.” She turned to Flynn. “I am so sorry, Kevin. So very sorry.”
“It’s all right, Hadley. It’s not that far to Millers Kill.” He looked toward the door and paused for a second, as if contemplating the likely fate he would meet out in the storm. Then he squared his shoulders, bravely overcoming his fears. “If I could just use the bathroom and
maybe get a hot cup of coffee before I go…”
“Of course you can, Kevin. My God, it’s the very least I can do.” She pulled her wallet out of her pocket, slanting it so her badge remained hidden. She tugged out her ID and slapped it on the counter. “My husband is Dylan Knox. Please give me a room key and tell me you have enough electricity so the coffee machines work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The receptionist peeped at her driver’s license, then slid it back to her. He looked regretfully at his computer—another victim of their energy problem, she guessed—then opened a file drawer. He speed-shuffled through some papers before pulling out a form. Hadley held her breath. She could feel Flynn tensing beside her. “Um … Mr. Knox is registered for one adult?”
She hit the desk with the flat of her hand. “The fact that you screwed up our reservation isn’t my fault! Or my concern! I’ve been traveling all day and I want to get to my family!”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll just … have to adjust the room rate?”
She leaned across the counter and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll discuss adjusting our room rate with your manager tomorrow. Along with your less-than-adequate performance”—she read his name tag—“Justin. Now give me my room key.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist squeaked. He fumbled a plastic card and some stiff pieces of paper into a sleeve and handed it to her. “I’ve put in four coupons for free admission to the breakfast buffet?”
Hadley plucked the sleeve out of his fingers. “Thank you.” She started across the expanse of the lobby, Flynn following.
“Ma’am?”
She paused. Shit. If he decided to call Dylan for verification …
“The elevators are out. I’m afraid you’ll have to use the stairs.”
She nodded without turning. She and Flynn mounted the wide carpeted staircase with its ornate wood-and-antler banister in silence. They didn’t speak until they had passed through the heavy fireproof door to the second-floor stairs. Then Hadley stopped and leaned against the wall. “Jesus.”
“You were amazing. I had no idea you were such a great actress. You ought to be doing undercover work. Vice or Narco or something.”
She pressed her hand against her chest. “I don’t think my heart could take it.” She opened the paper sleeve and read the room number. “Third floor.”
They climbed the next flight of stairs and pushed the door open. The long hallway was dim, lit only by emergency lights. “What’s the plan?” Flynn said quietly.
“We get in, we collect Hudson and Genny, and we get out again.” She started toward Dylan’s room. Her boots sank into the plush carpet.
Flynn trod close behind her. “What if he starts to get heavy?”
“We keep things as calm as possible and don’t scare the kids.” She glanced up at him, her mouth twisted. “Just like any other domestic.” She was at the door. She took a deep breath and inserted the key card. The light blinked green. She opened the door and walked in.
Hudson was sprawled on the far bed, chin in hands, watching a wide-screen TV. Past him, Genny sat with her feet crossed in one of a pair of high-backed chairs flanking a small table, her nose in a book. One of Dylan’s garment bags was lying unzipped and open on the near bed. Two, he had gotten a room with two beds, he was preparing for this all along. Dylan was nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door to her left was closed, the fan whirring.
“Mom!”
“Mom!”
She strode across the room and grabbed them both in a too-tight embrace. Behind her, she heard Flynn’s hands on the garment bag, unzipping, rustling through clothes. Search and secure possible weapons, the first rule when responding to a domestic.
“What are you doing here?” Hudson asked. He backed away and sat on the bed. Genny was still twined around her legs.
“I’m here to take you home, babies. Get your things.”
Flynn had moved on to the closet. She heard the ting and scrape of hangers sliding across the bar. She looked back toward him. He nodded. All clear. He held up a Hello Kitty suitcase. “Genny, did you borrow this from your mom?”
Genny ducked her head and giggled. The bathroom door opened. For a moment, they all stood in a tableau: Hadley with the children, Flynn holding the pink and white suitcase, Dylan staring at them, his dark eyes wide, his mouth working.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dylan finally asked. He advanced a step toward Flynn. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
Hudson’s mouth hung open. Genny dug her fists into Hadley’s legs. Flynn shifted, blocking Dylan’s path. “Mr. Knox, you’re scaring your children.”
Dylan looked past Flynn. “You bitch. You think you can just waltz in here and take my kids away from me? After you denied me access to them for two years?”
“Mr. Knox.” Flynn’s voice was an iron bar.
“I never denied you access to the kids! I begged you to stay in contact with them!” She gulped. Domestic. She sounded like one of those pitiful women they pulled away from their husbands on Saturday nights. If she didn’t stay in cop mode, she was going to lose it completely. “Hudson, Genny, I want you to get your things back into your suitcases.”
“Hudson, Genny, stay right where you are,” Dylan ordered.
Flynn tossed the Hello Kitty bag onto the far bed, following it with Genny’s pink parka. “I didn’t unpack,” Genny whispered. “Just my blanket and my book.”
“I’m calling my lawyer right now.” Dylan pawed his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out as if it were a gun. “I’ll have a custody order by tomorrow, you bitch, and when I do we’ll see who has to come crawling and playing pretty just to spend an afternoon with her children.”
It was ridiculous. Stagey and overplayed. It made her realize just how much of Dylan’s threats had been bluff and bluster. He had relied on the old patterns of their marriage—that she would agree to anything for the sake of the children. Well, not this time. “I don’t think you will,” she said, her voice steady. “I think you’ll have to find a judge in California willing to write you an ex parte order. Then your lawyer will have to hire a New York lawyer, who will have to bring the whole thing to a New York judge, who will be hearing from my lawyer. The whole process will drag and drag and you’ll be paying out of pocket for every second of it.”
Dylan’s jaw hinged open. He stared at her with angry, frustrated incredulity. He had threatened her, and she hadn’t buckled under. That’s right, you bastard. I’m not that easy-to-push-around girl you married. I’m a real live grown-up now.
Flynn bent down to retrieve Hudson’s duffel bag. Dylan let out an incoherent snarl and slammed into him, kicking and punching. Genny screamed. Flynn fell against the closet wall. Dylan swung his leg back for another kick, but Flynn lurched upright and rushed him, closing the space, making it impossible for Dylan to carry through. He flailed with his fists instead. Flynn blocked one blow, blocked another, and with a quick turn-turn-push he had Dylan pinned against the wall, straining upward on tiptoe, his arms drawn up tight behind his back. “Hadley, can you get Hudson’s things?” His voice was a little short of breath but calm.
“You son of a bitch,” Dylan snarled. “I’m going to sue you for police brutality! I’m going to have your badge for this!”
“I don’t even have my badge on me, Mr. Knox. I’m not here on business.” Flynn smiled tightly. “This is pure pleasure.”
Hadley grabbed the duffel, Hudson’s coat, both the kids’ boots. Genny was crying. Hadley unzipped the duffel. “Where are your clothes, honey?” Hudson pointed to one of the drawers with a shaking finger. She opened it and began tossing things into the bag as quickly as possible.
“What did she do?” Dylan asked. “Open her legs for you? Believe me, that’s nothing special. She’s like a bitch in he—” His words were cut off as Flynn slammed him into the wall. Flynn put his face next to Dylan’s ear and said something Hadley couldn’t hear. Dylan shut up.
“Is there anything else?” Ha
dley’s voice sounded weird in her own ears, as if someone else were saying her words. Hudson shook his head. “Okay, then. Grab your boots and your coats.” She picked up the bags and herded the kids, stocking-footed, across the room. They slipped past Dylan and Flynn like skaters easing around a hole in the ice, Genny still weeping, Hudson with his head down, refusing to look at his father. She opened the door, ushered them out, then closed it again.
“All right, babies. Get those boots on.” Through the door, she could hear Dylan, not his words, just his tone, snarling and hateful. Probably giving Flynn a detailed description of her former career. Flynn, with his wholesome family and Catholic upbringing and Eagle Scout badges. Flynn, who had been a virgin until she had come along. She bent down to help Genny tie one of her boots. Later. She’d deal with it later.
The door opened as she straightened. “Let’s go,” Flynn said. She nodded. He picked up the suitcase and the duffel bag. She held out her hands. Genny hung on for dear life, and Hudson, who was almost twelve and too old for such things, squeezed her hand tight and didn’t let go.
Down the stairs. Across the lobby, past the receptionist, who stared at them as if they were insane. Out the door, into the cold air and buffeting wind and freezing rain. They slipped and slid across the parking lot until they reached the Aztek. They all tumbled in, and Flynn started the engine and cranked the blower. “Help me get the ice off?” he asked Hadley.
“Buckle up,” she told the kids, before tugging on her hood and hopping back out into the rain. She and Flynn met at the rear of the vehicle. “What did he say?”
Flynn chiseled a plastic scraper across the rear window. “He threatened me. Said he was going to get me fired, screw me up good, etcetera, etcetera.”
“You don’t sound too worried.”
“I’m not.” He bent down and rapped at the ice caked over the brake lights.
She bit her lip. He didn’t sound too happy, either. “Did he say anything about me?”
Flynn straightened. “I thought he said quite enough in front of Hudson and Genny. God! I wanted to—” He shoved the scraper into his parka pocket and took her shoulders. “Please tell me he didn’t treat you like that when you were married to him.”
Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries) Page 30