Found Wanting

by Joyce Lamb

  Layton made a big show of checking his watch. "It's seven-thirty. Still the dinner hour." He gestured at Jonah's full plate. "Salmon's good for you," Layton said. "Lots of vitamin C. Or something." He glanced at Addison. "What's your excuse?"

  She had to force herself not to glare at him. "I'm not hungry either."

  He drained his chardonnay. "Tell me, what did you do today, Addy?"

  The question startled her. He rarely, if ever, asked about her day. Did he know something? "I ran errands."

  "Such as?"

  She returned his gaze without blinking. "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why do you want to know? You've never been interested before."

  He sat back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps I was attempting to make polite conversation in front of our guest."

  Jonah scooted his chair back. "May I be excused?"

  "Not yet." Layton let his smile bloom wide to soften the sharpness of the words. "I'd like to have a conversation with my son, if you don't mind."

  Jonah returned his chair to the table.

  "Why the long face, boy?" Layton asked, an edge to his voice that let Addison know he was annoyed. "Are you not pleased with your room?"

  "It's fine," Jonah said.

  "Have you tried the PlayStation 2?"

  The teen nodded, but Addison could see his heart wasn't in it. "Jonah seems tired to me," she said.

  Layton snorted. "A teen like you should be brimming with energy at this time of night."

  Jonah shrugged.

  "Okay," Layton said. "I'm going to spell it out for you. Maybe your mother tolerated moody behavior, but that's not how we do things around here."

  "Layton," Addison said, as gently as possible. "Give Jonah a break. It's been a day, for God's sake."

  "And I'm saying he needs to get over it," Layton snapped.

  Raising his head, Jonah looked Layton in the face. Fire burned in his blue eyes. "Fuck you."

  Addison gasped, expecting Layton to surge up out of his chair and strike the boy, but her husband just gave her a smug smile. "Hear that mouth, Addy? Where do you think he got that?" He shifted his gaze to Jonah. "You sound just like your mother, kid. She has a foul mouth on her, too."

  Twin circles of color rose on Jonah's cheeks. "Don't talk about my mother."

  Tossing his napkin on the table, Layton sat back. "I think we should. We're going to have to eventually. Why not get it all out early on?" Leaning forward, he aimed a finger at Jonah's nose. "She lied to you, Joe. For fourteen years."

  "My name's not Joe."

  "You could have had all of this." Layton made a sweeping gesture. "All of it. She didn't give a damn what you would want or need. That's selfish, Joe. It's damn selfish."

  "Layton --"

  "Do you mind, Addy? I'm talking to my son." He looked at Jonah. "You didn't even know I existed. What do you think about that, Joe?"

  "I think you should stop calling me Joe," Jonah said, and his voice was soft.

  "What are you going to do about it?" Layton asked, amused. "Hit me? Did she teach you to hit when you're angry?"

  "Stop baiting him," Addison snapped.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Layton waved a dismissing hand. "You're excused. Go to your room."

  Jonah was up and out of the room in a flash.

  "What are you doing, Layton?" Addison asked. "Bullying him isn't going to win him over."

  He rubbed his hands over his face. "I know, I know. But it irritates me seeing him moping around like he's lost his best friend."

  "He's lost his mother."

  "But shouldn't he be happy to be here? Shouldn't he be excited to finally get to know his dad?" Then his shoulders sagged, and his anger drained away, replaced by remorse. The change was so swift, and looked so genuine, that it caught her by surprise.

  "Jesus, Addy, I'm so desperate to win him over that I've acted like an asshole," Layton said. "I'd better go apologize."

  "I think you should just leave him alone for the night."

  "You're probably right." He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "She did a number on him, didn't she?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "He doesn't trust. She made him like that."

  No, he just doesn't trust you. The kid has good instincts. She said, "You'll have plenty of time to turn him around."

  Chapter 22

  "Pull over."

  Mitch glanced at Alaina, surprised that she had spoken. It had been more than an hour since he had awakened her, since his former partner had returned a long-ago favor by saving his life. They had left Chuck at the safe house to deal with the aftermath, which included intensive questioning of the hit man, whose wounds appeared non-life-threatening, and the FBI agent in charge of securing the safe house throughout the night. The man had staggered into the bedroom after the shooting was over. The simple bump on the head from a man hired by Keller to kill at all costs had raised suspicions -- especially considering the fear that Keller had somehow infiltrated the FBI.

  Chuck, who as deputy director had taken over the investigation from Assistant Director Norm Potter, and Mitch had quickly decided that Alaina would be safest if Mitch took her to a location that he didn't share even with Chuck. At the time, Alaina, still stunned by the hit man's attack, hadn't argued. But now she apparently had snapped out of it.

  "Pull over," she repeated, more vehemently.

  Thinking she was going to be sick, Mitch steered the car onto the highway's shoulder and stopped. She bailed out fast, slamming the door. But instead of being ill, she ducked her head against the rain and began to stride in the direction they had come.

  Mitch fell in step beside her, hunching his shoulders. An occasional car whizzed by only a few feet away, tires hissing on the wet pavement. "What are you doing?" he asked.

  Her hair, already drenched, hung in curling tendrils, and she swept them out of her face. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "So, what, you're going to walk back to the city?" He looked around at their surroundings in an exaggerated manner, his hands spread. "We're sixty miles out already. There isn't even a streetlight out here."

  Whirling toward him, she planted her hands on his chest and shoved, knocking him back a few steps. "Get back in your car and get the hell away from me."

  He had to run to catch up to her again. "Alaina, come on. It's cold and it's raining and, in case you haven't noticed, there's a big target on your back."

  "Would that be the same target you've been aiming at?"

  "I told you I don't work for him anymore."

  "And I'm supposed to just take your word for it."

  "I don't think you have much choice."

  She responded by picking up her pace.

  Staying with her, he tried another angle. "I defied the federal government for you. The feds could toss me in jail for interfering in their investigation."

  "Good. Maybe then you'll leave me alone."

  He grabbed her arm, hauling her to a stop. "This is nonsense. Just listen --"

  She swung around and slapped him. And it was as if the violent action released a torrent of rage and emotion. "How dare you! How dare you say this is nonsense!" The next time she hit him, it was with her fist.

  Catching her wrist before she struck him again, he twisted her around, wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, trapping both her arms against her body. He didn't know how else to subdue her without getting a knee in the groin or an elbow in the gut. At the same time, he was all too aware of how they must have looked on the shoulder of the highway. All he needed was for some Good Samaritan to pull over and try to help the damsel in distress. Luckily, no cars had passed them since he had grabbed her.

  Against him, Alaina squirmed, groaning her frustration through gritted teeth. He felt her muscles coil and strain, as if she were trying to get leverage to flip him over her shoulder. He was surprised he was able to hold her so easily. In their earlier skirmishes, she'd proved a
worthy and strong opponent. But she was weak now, exhausted both mentally and physically. And that seemed to frustrate her all the more.

  "Let me go."

  The emotion in her voice nearly broke his resolve, but he steeled himself and held on, conscious of her racing pulse in the wrist clamped in his hand. It beat against his palm like a frantic bird trying to escape a glass cage. Her already weakening struggles and sobbing breath made his throat ache. "You're safe with me, Alaina. I promise. You can trust me."

  "Let me go, damn you!"

  He held fast. "Listen to me. I'm going to help you get Jonah back. That's what you want, isn't it?"

  She continued to strain against his grip, but he sensed her attention had focused.

  "Think about where you'll be if you walk away from me," he went on. "You have no way of getting to Keller. If you contact him, he'll just send another hired thug after you. You're not safe with the FBI. That's obvious after tonight. But I know where Keller lives."

  Her body tensed again, but it was the tension of someone who was listening intently.

  "We're going to go somewhere safe," he said. "Where Keller's hired killers can't find you. Because if you end up dead, Jonah's out of luck. Right?"

  She relaxed some, her breath hitching.

  He took that to mean he had gotten through to her. "I know you have no reason to believe I'm on your side," he said. "But I'm willing to prove it to you if you give me a chance."

  She didn't respond for a long moment, but she also didn't try to fight him anymore. Finally, she whispered, "Please let me go."

  He released her. Facing him, she studied him while rain ran down her face in rivulets. It reminded him of the first time he'd looked into her eyes, when she'd been flat on her back in the street after being hit by the cab. The jolt he felt was stronger now, and made it difficult to draw a deep breath.

  Without speaking, she walked past him toward the car. He followed, relieved that he had gotten through to her. She might not have trusted him, but he could give her what she wanted most. He knew her well enough to know that she would risk everything to get it.

  In the car, he shucked his leather jacket and handed it over to her. "You need to get warm," he said, and cranked up the car's heater.

  He pulled back into traffic while she burrowed under his jacket. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked.

  "I don't remember."

  Reaching into the back seat, he hauled forward a backpack that he plopped into her lap. "There're PowerBars in there. Eat one."

  She bristled at the command, but he headed off her protest. "Yesterday, you nearly kicked my ass twice. Tonight, you couldn't best a kitten. You're going to need your strength to take on that son of a bitch."

  Zipping open the canvas pack, she plucked out a PowerBar and ripped open the packaging. He let her swallow three bites before he glanced sideways at her. She was staring out the side window, her jaw working as she slowly chewed. He figured he didn't have to wonder what she was thinking. Her thoughts were focused entirely on Jonah. He couldn't relate to such single-minded determination, and it made him feel inadequate as a father and as a man. If he'd had half her resolve, he never would have allowed his ex to shut him out of his son's life.

  He cleared his throat. "So tell me why you have no problem slapping the crap out of me, but you can't seem to pull a trigger to save your own life."

  Finishing off the PowerBar, she crumpled the wrapper in her hand. "How did you know where to find me?"

  He let her change the subject for now. "Chuck -- the guy who took down Keller's man -- he's a deputy director in the Bureau. He gave me a hint."

  "How did the hit man find me?"

  "We think Keller's got someone in the Bureau," he said, glancing sideways in time to see her fist clench around the PowerBar packaging.

  At least half a minute passed before she said, "My sister could be at risk."

  It was the response he'd been hoping for, an indication that she cared about the woman who'd put her own life on the line to protect her and Jonah despite the circumstances of Jonah's birth, whatever they were. He didn't know why that seemed important, but it was. It reassured him that he'd chosen the right side. "Chuck said the Bureau has gone to great lengths to shield her identity," he said. "She's been dealing only with A.D. Potter and his office. If Keller hasn't found out about her by now, it's likely he won't."

  "You trust them?"

  "I used to be one of them."

  "That's not an answer." Her voice sounded stronger now.

  "I trust Chuck," he said. At least in times like these, he thought.

  "But you wouldn't tell him where we're going."

  "It was safer not to."

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "Cabin in the Shenandoahs I've rented a couple times. Very secluded," he said. "Of course, it's about a three-mile hike, so it's a good thing you ate something. You're going to need it." He paused, hitting the high beams as the road curved, trees growing dense on either side. "Now it's your turn. Why didn't you shoot that guy when you had the chance?"

  Looking out the side window, Alaina drew his jacket up to her chin and burrowed further under it as if seeking shelter. He thought she was going to avoid the question again, and he was prepared to let her. But then she spoke, and her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear it. "I killed a man once. It was an experience I don't ever want to repeat."

  "You defended yourself," he said, unsure why he knew now that there was only one way Keller's hired hand could have ended up dead. He just knew.

  She seemed surprised by the conclusion he'd reached, and regret arrowed into him. He wanted to apologize for every harsh thing he'd said to her but had no idea where to start or even what to say. Instead, he said, "You'll learn to live with it eventually."

  With her gaze intent on his profile, he focused on the shiny wet asphalt that stretched ahead of the car. "Five years ago -- I was a fed then -- I worked a kidnap case in which a woman took off with her neighbor's toddler. A sad story. She and her husband had lost their three-year-old in a hit-and-run accident. A year later, the husband walked out on her. She just went berserk. Grabbed the neighbor kid off the lawn and ended up in North Carolina before we caught up with her. My partner -- Chuck -- and I cornered her at a beach house she'd holed up in, tried to talk her out while we waited for backup. By then, she was holding the kid and threatening to shoot him if we didn't back off. We were all ready to do it, too. You know, wait for a psychiatrist to show up. But for some reason, she started shooting at us." He paused, taking a moment to draw in a calming breath. "She was waving that gun around, holding that helpless little boy so tight he couldn't breathe. He started to scream, and that just seemed to send her all the way over the edge. First chance I got, I shot her."

  Only the hum of the engine and the hiss of tires on rain-drenched pavement filled the car. Alaina was still, and he sensed her attention, sharp and searching. He wondered what she saw, how she felt. And then he wondered at what point what she saw and how she felt had become so important to him.

  After what seemed an eternity, he heard her swallow. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "That must have been terrible for you."

  Her face was wet, but he couldn't tell whether it was tears or the rain still dripping from her hair. She'd never been more appealing. He moistened his lips. "You do what you have to do," he said. "And then you deal with it."

  "How did you deal with it?"

  He gave her a sardonic smile. "Quit my job, drank a lot, alienated my friends and family. What did you do?"

  "Drove for two days with Jonah to Grand Junction, Colorado, and started over."

  His insides did a slow roll. She hadn't had the luxury of falling apart. She'd had a child depending on her for his next meal. No time for wallowing in self-pity. "I don't know how you did it, how you survived," he said.

  "You do what you have to do," she said, repeating his own words back to him.

  And she had, he thought. She'd run away w
ith her child. She'd made a decent life for them against the odds. She'd killed for him, survived for him. When a normal person would have crumbled, she had persevered. And he sensed she had done it for one reason only. He prayed they wouldn't have to find out what would happen to her if that reason was taken away.

  "We'll get Jonah back," he said in a low voice. "I promise."

  "You shouldn't do that," she said.

  "Do what?"

  "Make promises you can't keep."

  "I don't."

  Chapter 23

  "This is it," Mitch said as he shone the flashlight on the front porch of the cabin.

  It was dark, tiny and desolate, and Alaina didn't care. Her legs felt rubbery from the two-hour hike over slippery, rough terrain, and she was desperate to get warm. The rain had stopped a half-hour ago, but she'd been soaked when they'd started out, and Mitch's jacket had afforded little protection against cold and wet that was on the inside. The night was frigid and windy, and while the grueling hike had kept her blood circulating, it had done little to warm her.

  Apparently, he was chilled, too, because he was having a hard time picking the lock.

  She hunched her shoulders against the icy wind, shivering almost uncontrollably. Heat. She would have done anything for heat.

  Finally, finally, the cabin door swung open. "It's been closed up all winter, so the air's probably a bit stale," he said, arcing the beam of his flashlight around a large, rustic room with a vaulted ceiling, knotted wood walls and furniture that looked well lived in.

  Dust hung in the air and layered everything in sight, which wasn't much: a big, overstuffed sofa, matching easy chair and a dining room table with four slatted chairs. A short hallway led into darkness, and she figured a bedroom or two lay at the end of it.

  "We'll have to do without electricity until I can get fuel for the generator," Mitch said.

  Alaina didn't care as her gaze settled on the stone fireplace before the sofa. "A fire would be nice," she said.

  "It sure would. Once everything outside dries out."

  Her hope bottomed. "You're kidding."