Fatal Enemy

by Diane Capri

  Jess ran, one foot and then the other, pounding the cinders, lap after lap, ignoring the wind and rain that chilled her. Her plan resolved, she finished by walking twice around, allowing the icy rain to drench her body. The cool air now felt refreshing because she knew what she was going to do. Maybe her plan wouldn’t work. Maybe she’d end up like Betsy. Maybe Richard would win once more. But she had to try. For Peter. She dropped her gaze to the ground and headed into the showers.

  4.

  JESS WAITED LONG ENOUGH for Richard to relax into complacency and Anna to regain some composure before she flew from Miami to Buffalo. At the airport she rented an anonymous-looking grey sedan. She’d rejected a non-stop flight to Toronto. Although faster and easier, she’d be dependent on flight schedules for the return. Since 9/11, airport security had become irritatingly problematic. She’d be required to prove Anna’s identity, which would make them easier to stop and trace. No, driving into and out of Canada was best.

  Reluctantly, she rejected buying an untraceable gun on the streets of Buffalo. Taking a gun into Canada was a serious crime. Canadian citizens weren’t allowed to carry concealed weapons. Even owning them was severely restricted. If she was caught she’d be arrested and probably imprisoned. Anna would certainly be returned to her father. No, the risk was too great. She’d take Anna away from Richard permanently using guile alone. She refused to fail again.

  Jess drove to Lewiston, New York, and checked into a mom-and-pop motel. She rented the room for two nights. Tomorrow, she’d test her plan. The following day, she’d execute it.

  She slept lightly for four hours, then dressed casually in khaki slacks, pink shirt, blue blazer, and running shoes. She fluffed her curly blonde hair and studied herself in the mirror, pleased by the guileless soccer mom effect she’d created.

  It was dark at five a.m. as she drove toward the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge. If he thought about her at all, Richard would expect her to take the shortest route to and from Toronto. She intended to oblige. Drive time was seventy-five minutes, baring construction or heavy traffic.

  The border crossing went well. Off season, during the week, the area was almost deserted both ways. Very few travelers meant only one of the two customs booths were open. As in most of the small tourist towns, the Canadian customs officer simply asked her name, nationality, where she was going and when she planned to return. She’d offered the typical tourist’s response for a visit to Niagara Falls and paid the toll. He’d waved her through without asking for ID. May the return be so easy, she thought, wiping the sweat from each palm onto her slacks.

  She reached the private school where her research revealed Anna was enrolled. After circling the block twice to be sure Richard wasn’t lurking and didn’t have Anna under surveillance, she parked in front. She had a clear view of the playground while waiting for 10:15 a.m. It nagged her that Richard seemed to have allowed Anna out of his control. Was he that sure of himself? Had he arrogantly assumed Jess had given up? If so, he didn’t know her at all. That thought comforted more than the alternatives.

  At 10:20, a young woman led twenty energetic children out the door to the playground. Jess spotted Anna. When she saw the little girl with the strawberry curls for the first time, Jess’s eyes teared. She wiped her eyes with her fingers, willing the tears away. No time for sorrow now. She pushed all emotion aside as luxury. The job demanded her full attention.

  Anna seemed quiet and unfocused, but functional. Eyes dull and heavy-lidded, she stood apart from the other children clutching a rag doll under her left arm and sucking her right thumb.

  A low flame of denied anger began in Jess’s stomach. Anna’s parents had been locked into their own rage, unable to put Anna’s life first. The child would never be normal again. Anna was a victim of a tragic struggle. All Jess could do now was try to mitigate the damage. And get the bastard responsible. And maybe, someday, make it up to her by uniting her with her brother.

  Richard Martin was no kind of father. Never to Peter, and not to Anna, either. The knowledge soothed Jess’s guilt only slightly.

  Like every good investigator, she’d analyzed the risks, then constructed Plan A and Plan B. Plan A: she and Anna returned home without Richard’s interference, luring him back into the U.S. where authorities would arrest him. Plan B provided an alternative if Richard attempted to thwart her. He would be dealt with at the border crossing. At least, in theory.

  Yet again, she regretted the decision she’d had to make about the gun and prayed her alternative would work, even though it could cost Jess her own life. She’d no alternatives left.

  5.

  AS ALWAYS BEFORE EXECUTING the final stages of any plan, Jess slept fitfully. Finally, at 4:00 a.m., she gave up the effort. She dressed again in yesterday’s costume and launched Plan A.

  Jess arrived at the school two hours early and parked down the street, waiting for Anna’s arrival. Just before nine, a station wagon stopped. A young woman helped Anna out of the back seat, and held her hand as they walked to the school’s front entrance. The woman was gentle with Anna, but Anna demonstrated no affection when they parted. Anna walked into the school, slowly and alone, dragging the rag doll with her. The woman returned to the station wagon and left.

  Jess felt anger’s slow burn ignite in her gut. Teeth clenched, muscles tense. She willed her breathing and heartbeat’s slowing, even pace. Anger now would only interfere with her performance. Another luxury for later.

  When the children entered the playground for recess, Jess left her car and strolled over. She called to Anna twice. The child looked up. A broad grin slowly lit her face. Anna loped toward her.

  “Aunt Jess!” she said, crying as Jess picked her up and hugged her, too tightly. She felt thinner inside her clothes. Jess’s sadness, followed by hot anger, returned and she allowed herself to feel, just briefly.

  Within a few moments, Jess had explained to Anna’s teacher that Anna had a dentist’s appointment and produced a forged note from Richard allowing her to take the child. The teacher looked at Jess carefully, but released Anna, probably in part because Anna continued to hold onto Jess as if she never wanted to let go. Less than fifteen minutes after Jess first saw Anna on the playground, they were driving toward Lewiston. So far, Plan A seemed to be working.

  Constantly checking the rear view mirror, she retraced the route she’d taken the day before. Anna, securely belted in the back seat, had returned to her subdued behavior. She talked quietly to the rag doll she’d brought along with her. About an hour into the drive, her eyelids closed, her chin gently touched her chest and she fell into the rhythm of sleep. A bit of drool slid from the corner of her mouth onto the doll’s head. She was so young, so sweet. So undeserving of this mess. Jess clenched the steering wheel so tight her hands cramped.

  Was Richard controlling Anna with medication of some kind? Another thing to despise him for. Jess glanced at her watch. Just like yesterday, she was right on time. Even the weather cooperated.

  When they approached the border crossing, Jess located the passports, prepared to show them if she had to. She’d seen no sign of Richard or anyone following her for the entire return trip, which worried her.

  Richard was crazy, violent, controlling. She’d expected him to know where Anna was every second, and to come after her. Or at least, Richard should have learned Anna was abducted and reasoned that Jess would take the shortest route back to the U.S.

  So far, she hadn’t seen Richard. But her senses were on alert. She’d finally learned never to underestimate him. There was something she’d missed. Somehow, she believed, when they reached the border, he’d be there. Then what? She’d already decided. Plan B. Could she pull it off?

  Supremely focused now, she drove over the bridge without noticing the spectacular views of Niagara Gorge. At the U.S. check point, the line of vehicles moved swiftly through a single open kiosk. She looked into the cinder-block customs building, which also housed the duty free store. She saw one officer behind the count
er, and one clerk in the store waiting on a customer.

  While she watched, the customer carried a bottle of liquor in a plain brown bag to the rusty battered panel van waiting in line in front of Jess’s vehicle and got in. The panel van belched smoke when it backfired, and its muffler had long ago surrendered to the rust belt.

  Mid-week, off season, at lunch time, the entire area was relaxed, thinly patrolled and almost deserted. She hoped this would make Richard more obvious, if he appeared and tried anything.

  Jess mentally rehearsed the lie she’d tell if the customs officer asked her more than routine questions. Yesterday, the process was casual, easy, intended to encourage tourism, not to thwart a kidnapper. Would it be the same today? Please, God.

  Two cars ahead passed through the checkpoint. Only one more ahead of her. When the panel van jerked toward the kiosk window, Jess pulled up and waited at the yellow line. The van blocked her view of the officer.

  She glanced around the entire vicinity and saw nothing unusual. Then, looked again toward the duty-free store. She saw a lone figure, vaguely familiar, standing outside.

  Could it be?

  Richard.

  He’d shaved his head and wore sunglasses. But it was him. Definitely. He couldn’t disguise his arrogance.

  She didn’t know how he’d found her, but he had and she wasn’t surprised. She’d expected him, knew he’d come. But how?

  A tracking device on Anna somewhere? Regular calls to the school just to check on his daughter?

  However he’d managed it, he was here now. She had to move. Adrenaline made her heart pound and sweat bead on her brow. No choice now. Plan B.

  Stay calm.

  Checking the rear view, she realized she’d have to move forward. An eighteen-wheeler six feet behind blocked any alternative, even if she’d wanted to leave the line and return deeper into Canada. Which she didn’t. What she needed to do was leave the country. Now.

  The officer in the kiosk seemed to be chatting too long with the occupants of the panel van. But she couldn’t see the officer and he couldn’t see her. She tapped the steering wheel impatiently with her thumbs.

  Mimicking the guy who’d joined the van earlier, Richard strolled toward her car. Quiet panic fluttered in her chest as she watched him. Did anyone else see? He reached her car door, looked directly into her eyes as if to mesmerize her, grasped the handle, and lifted it.

  The locked door didn’t open. He glanced then into the back seat where Anna slept, covered by the blanket Jess had brought, still holding the doll. The normal sarcastic smirk creased his face. Insight struck.

  It was the doll. That’s where he’d hidden the tracking device.

  Bastard. You think you’re so clever. We’ll see.

  Jess lowered the back window and Richard stuck his left hand on the top of the glass, gripped as if he might pull the glass out. His right hand gripped the passenger door handle.

  “Go away, Richard, while you still can. If you try anything here, border patrol will kill you. Your choice.”

  He laughed. “I’m touched that you’d care. Truly. But you’re kidnapping my daughter, Jess. Do you really think they’ll take your side over mine?”

  While he held onto the glass and the door handle Jess punched the accelerator. The car leaped forward. Richard lost his balance. She slammed the brake. The car’s quick jerk threw him to the ground. Her actions, and Richard’s, were blocked from the customs officer’s view by the panel van, which moved forward now, slowly, through the open gate.

  Maybe surveillance cameras saw him. Surely, the border guards would protect her and the child. She hoped.

  The officer inside the booth waved her ahead. She released a breath and eased to stop next to the booth, left hand on the wheel.

  “What’s your citizenship, ma’am?” the kindly old officer asked.

  “U.S.” She glanced in the right side mirror. Richard had risen from the ground. His stare carried a malevolence she could feel. Bastard. Go away. While you still can.

  The customs officer glanced into the back seat now, too, where Anna slept. At the same time, he noticed Richard, hands in the oversized pocket of his sweatshirt, standing too close, not moving, saying nothing.

  The officer became more alert. “How about the child, ma’am?” Another officer came out of the building, hand on his gun, waiting.

  They had seen Richard try to enter her car. It was working. Plan B was working. Thank God.

  “U.S., too.” Small rivulets of sweat tickled her armpits. Let us go, Richard, and live to try again.

  “Picture I.D., Ma’am?”

  Jess reached into her handbag, retrieved the passports and handed them to the officer. He examined the blue jacketed folders. “Your name is Jessica Kimball? And hers is Anna Martin?”

  “Divorce,” she said. Richard simply stood there. What was he thinking? Was he willing to die to thwart her?

  The big truck behind her seemed to breathe fire through its roaring engine when the driver tapped his accelerator impatiently. Jess felt the heat rolling toward her.

  The officer glanced at Richard again. Maybe experience, or training or something gave him an uneasy pang. Now, his full attention was focused on the situation. “Do you have the child’s birth certificate?”

  Jess furrowed her brow with mock consternation. “I didn’t think you’d need it.”

  He closed the passports and gestured toward the building. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Park over there and go inside where they’ll verify your identification.” Then he nodded at Richard, who stood stock still, feet braced shoulder width apart, hands still inside his big front pocket. “Do you know him?”

  Now. Plan B. Now was the time. Do it!

  She took a breath. Exhaled. “He’s got a gun.”

  Before the officer could react, Richard slowly extracted his hand from the sweatshirt, and pointed the gun at her head.

  “Get down! Get down!” the officer shouted, squatting beside the car’s engine block, the only place safe from gunfire.

  In that instant, Richard chose death.

  The deafening noise of shots rang out. Bullets entered the rear glass. One grazed Jess’s arm as she fell sideways. Another exited inches from where her head had been an instant before. The pain seared through her as blood soaked her blazer and ran down her arm. Anna began to scream.

  Border guards acted immediately. They shouted for Richard to drop his gun. He didn’t.

  A guard shot and hit Richard in the leg. He went down, and kept shooting.

  Bullets tattooed the back of the sedan. Anna’s screams intensified.

  Idiot! You’ll hit Anna!

  After an excruciatingly long few moments, the customs officer in the booth drew his weapon, and two additional officers ran out from the building. “Drop your gun! Drop your gun!”

  Jess looked into Richard’s eyes. Either of them could have changed things at that moment.

  But they didn’t.

  Plan B. She jammed the accelerator to the floorboard. The sedan lurched forward, broke through the wooden gate, and raced onto American soil.

  Richard shot at Jess’s car again. As she’d known they would, the guards returned fire.

  Jess mashed the brake, jerking the sedan to a stop behind the solid walls of the U.S. Customs station. Applying pressure to her throbbing, bleeding arm, she managed to open the back door and unsnap Anna’s seatbelt. She slid the hysterical child onto the pavement and held Anna close, shielding her, until the deafening gunfire stopped.

  In the brief silence, Anna’s screams became wailing sobs. Jess struggled to rise while holding the girl despite the searing pain in her arm, and stumbled back to view the scene at the kiosk. Richard lay on the ground, blood running from his mouth, lifeless eyes staring straight at her. Her first thought was, Thank God.

  Jess’s anger flared. He’d chosen to die rather than let Jess take Anna. He’d intended to get all three of them killed. Instead, Peter’s father breathed life no more.

&nb
sp; At that moment, Jess felt no remorse. Maybe she would be sorry some day, when Peter asked, “Why did you let them kill my father?” But not now.

  6.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Jess joined Bette, who sat watching Anna on the Land of the Dragons playground. The family resemblance was unmistakable. Both were clearly from Betsy Martin’s gene pool. In Anna, Jess saw some hint of Richard too. How could a wonderful child have emerged from two such damaged parents?

  The woman Jess had seen outside Betsy’s house the night of the shooting was there, too. Maria Gaspar’s youngest daughter and Anna were friends. Both girls were on the playground.

  “She looks happy, doesn’t she?” Bette asked, with a wistful tone. Anna was in counseling and taking medication which the psychologist hoped would help her to work through the traumas she’d endured at her parents’ hands.

  To reassure her, Jess said, “Don’t worry so much. She’s young. With luck and love, she won’t remember most of it.”

  A tear rolled down Bette’s cheek. Her lips quivered. “She won’t have much to remember about her mother.”

  Jess closed her eyes against tears of her own. She had risked her life so that Anna might thrive. Now, all she could do was hope. “It’s up to you to keep Betsy alive for her.”

  “We’ll help, too, Bette,” Maria said, giving Bette’s shoulders a hug and meeting Jess’s gaze over Bette’s bowed head. “Carlos has been like a father to Anna for a while now, anyway.”

  Jess nodded her agreement to this imperfect arrangement. Together, they watched Anna climb the rope ladders and slide down the dragon’s tail, laughing when she landed on her butt in the sand.

  “Betsy was so smitten. And he loved her, too.” Bette stopped, bewildered. “What went wrong?”

  Jess rubbed her sore arm to stop its pulsing. Like Richard’s effect on Anna, Jess’s wound would hurt for a long time and leave a permanent scar. Jess needed no reminder of the hole in her heart where Peter lived, but welcomed the pain and would welcome the scar, too. She’d narrowly escaped Richard twice. She never intended to forget that, or to make the same mistake again.