“I’ve waited eleven years, Miss Brown.”
Neesy glanced toward the hallway where Julia had just fled. Dutch’s gaze followed.
“Is that her room?”
“Yes, but—”
He smiled again, and it was truly mesmerizing. Neesy’s protest dribbled to a stop. “Just give me a few minutes,” Dutch said. “If she still doesn’t want to come with me, I’ll leave.”
Neesy looked over at Hannah, who nodded.
“First door on the left,” Neesy said.
She watched the man amble down the hallway and disappear into Julia’s bedroom. Listened for the explosion she expected. But none came.
In the silence, Hannah said, “He doesn’t look much like Mitch, does he?”
“Mitch wouldn’t have come at her like this.”
“You don’t know what Mitch would have done if he’d been separated from his daughter for years.”
But she did. And she also knew it took more than a dazzling smile and a limo to make a good father. It took more than blood, too, if her own father was any indication. It took a special kind of gift. Mitch had the talent for it. Who knew what his brother had?
To her surprise, though, Dutch emerged a few minutes later with Julia in tow. He was even holding her hand. She still had that cornered look in her face, but there was something else there, too. Curiosity, maybe.
Well, it was a beginning.
“We’re going for a ride,” Julia announced a bit defiantly. “I can come back anytime I want.”
Dutch gave her that stunning smile. “Go on—take a look. It’s yours for the duration.”
Julia went to the door and stared out at the long, shiny car.
Hannah rose. “Well…” She looked around as though searching for a way to prolong the moment and keep Julia there, but finally shot Neesy an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. And then to Dutch. “I hope everything works out.” She shook hands with him. “Good luck.” On her way out, she bent to speak to Julia. “Enjoy your ride.”
She left Julia at the door and Neesy alone with Dutch. He was taking out that leather wallet again. “I appreciate your taking care of Julia.” He slipped out some bills and handed them to her.
Neesy held up her hands and stepped back. “Please, no need for that. It was my pleasure. And besides, I’m assuming she’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Oh, that’s up to her. I have high hopes.”
“You work some kind of spell over her?”
He laughed. “Not at all. We just… connected.” He gazed over at the door as though he hadn’t doubted it for a minute, his face suffused with fondness. “I’m very grateful,” he said softly. “More than you can know. To have my daughter back after all these years—” He stopped, unable to continue.
The emotion surprised Neesy, though it shouldn’t have. No one under the sun would’ve felt any different. For the first time, she saw what Mitch had done to this man.
“Well,” he said, gathering his composure, “I guess we’re off.” He took her hand, looked into her face with shining eyes. “I really can’t thank you enough.” He went to the door and put his arm around Julia. His long, lean frame towered over her. “Are you ready?”
“And I can come back whenever I want? You promise?”
“On my honor.”
They walked out the door, and the two of them disappeared into the limo.
It was only later, after he left and the force of his beauty and those blue, blue eyes was gone, that she realized he’d left five thousand dollars on the arm of the sofa.
Dutch settled the girl on the seat opposite him so he could watch her, but she squirmed and fidgeted, making it difficult. If he could, he would give her a little piece of quiet. Something that would freeze her altogether so she was awake but could not move and he could stare freely and do what he wanted with her.
But that would be too much temptation, and though the urge had recently been satiated, just seeing those eyes and her hair and everything else that should have been his made his senses reel. He could feel the craving slither inside him, at the back of his throat, in the tips of his fingers. He would have to do something about it soon, but not yet.
Not now.
Now he let the child prattle about the shambles of a house and the dregs of a town he’d rescued her from. She was showing him the highlights of her pathetic little life, and he nodded and smiled at the appropriate points but allowed her words to became a drone inside his head. Something to endure until it stopped.
And it would stop.
He just had to get that drink down her.
Julia had never been inside a limousine before. She was amazed at how big it was. Dutch sat across from her and asked if she wanted a drink, and when she suggested a Coke, he didn’t give her a lecture on the evils of sugar like Mitch would’ve done. He just opened a compartment stocked with bottles and glasses and even ice, and poured her a glass. She and Mitch had had plenty of drinks in the truck, but they usually came out of a cooler. She didn’t even know you could have a refrigerator right inside your car.
For some reason, the drink made her feel better, like all the bones in her body had turned into mush. She sat back against the seat and told the driver where to turn and gave Dutch a tour of Crossroads. She showed him the place on the bridge where Mitch had jumped into the Forbidden River for Sara Jean. She took him to the school and to Crick’s and past the Blunts’ and the carriage house. She told him about Sara Jean being in Florida and how Mitch wouldn’t let her go. But then she started feeling like she was being disloyal to Mitch, so she shut up.
And that’s when she decided it was time to go back. It was practically dark, anyway, so there was no point in showing off any more sights. Not that there were any more sights to show off. Besides, she was feeling sleepy and could hardly keep her eyes open.
“Why don’t you lie down?” Dutch suggested. “When you wake up, you’ll be there.”
She didn’t especially want to, but her head did feel heavy. And Dutch found a pillow behind another door—how many were there inside this car?—and laid it on the long seat. It looked soft and inviting, and before she knew it, she was stretched out on the seat.
“Close your eyes, Julia,” Dutch said, and she did. His hand was on her head, stroking her hair. The last thing she heard was his voice crooning softly, “There, now. That’s a good girl. A very good girl.”
23
As much as possible, Mitch tried to stay parallel to the highway. But the roadbed had been hacked out of woods, and the land quickly rose under his feet. Before he knew it, he was above the pavement and surrounded by thick foliage.
By that time he was sweating from exertion, but his fingers and ears were hunks of ice, so he knew it was cold. Beneath the sweat he shivered, and after fifteen minutes, he felt the cold beneath the sweat.
He just hoped he didn’t puncture a lung. He could think of better ways of dying than choking on his own blood.
Ten minutes later, the wind picked up and it started to snow again. It came down so fast the path was quickly covered, and the little he could see ahead was blurred by a whirlwind of flakes. He couldn’t believe it. The powers that be had seen fit to let him escape only to have him die in the woods?
He should stop and find shelter, but when he turned the flashlight in a circle, all he made out were trees.
He trudged on. At some point his hand was so cold it lost its grip on the light. He dove for it, but it crashed and rolled out of reach. He scrabbled after it, following the revolving beam, but before he could grab it, the light disappeared over a ledge Mitch didn’t even know was there. He heard it bounce against rock, saw the beam go dark.
Disbelieving, he stared into the blackness. What now? Had anyone else heard the noise?
He stood in rigid silence for the sound of footsteps, but none came. His throat ached from inhaling icy air, his chest throbbed, and he couldn’t feel his fingers. Should he go after the light? No telling where it
had landed. Who knows where he’d end up if he tried to retrieve it in the pitch dark.
Instead, he stretched his arms ahead and crept forward, tense and desperate and keenly aware of the ledge at his right. Feeling with his feet before taking a step, he checked the air in front of him to make sure it was safe to continue. A few minutes later, he tripped over something small and hard, like a rock, and landed face-first in the snow. He wrenched back the scream that came up his throat so the sound wouldn’t betray his position. It took a while to get up. He just wanted to lie there. Rest. Tomorrow he’d find his way. Tomorrow.
But a sharp voice rebuked him. The monster was loose. He would get to Julia if Mitch didn’t. And to Neesy, who was sheltering her.
Dread spurred Mitch upward. Drove him forward. What seemed like miles later, his outstretched hands touched something that hadn’t been there before. Hard, stonelike. He traced the shape.
A cliff or outcrop of some kind. Curved. Concave.
He shuffled closer, huddled in tight. The curve sheltered him from the wind. Almost instantly he felt warmer.
Shivering, he knelt down, wrapped his arms around his legs, and huddled there. The last thing he did was send up a prayer.
Please let me be alive in the morning.
Mitch didn’t make it till morning. The sky was still dark when he opened his eyes. His feet were numb, which he knew was not good, and his whole body creaked as he rose. He gasped and stopped short as a keen pain stabbed into his chest and side. Groaning, he finished standing more slowly, taking in small gulps of air. He wriggled his toes, then gingerly stamped life into them. The snow had stopped and the sky was clear, leaving a gleam of moonlight to see by. Whatever rest he’d had was going to have to last until he could get Julia and find somewhere safe to sleep.
He set off at a lope, moving as fast as his frozen feet and his messed-up ribs would let him. The woods were thick but not high, and if the sky hadn’t cleared enough for a little moonlight to shine through, he’d never have been able to negotiate them.
The slog was hard going. He traveled carefully, all too aware that if he accidentally moved in the wrong direction, his ribs screamed in agony. It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes for the cold to disappear into a hot sweat of pain and effort.
He didn’t know how long he’d been at it when a noise came through the trees. He stopped suddenly, straining to identify it. At first, all he heard was his own short, puffy breaths. Then the noise coalesced into sound.
Men thrashing. Animals huffing.
Fear shot up his chest. They’d found the van with his tracks and set the dogs on him.
Ribs or no ribs, he had to move. He took off, praying he wouldn’t puncture a lung. Holding his side as best he could, he hobbled through the trees, only moonlight to guide him.
The freezing air felt good on his hot face, but the faster he went, the faster they seemed to come after him. He could hear shouting now, actual men’s voices.
“This way!”
“He’s over here!”
Groaning, he picked up the pace, running with what felt like an arrow in his side. The pain ran into his chest and up his arm like fingers squeezing the life out of him. He was breathing hard, and each breath brought a crack of torture.
He never knew what tripped him. A root, a rock, a random, invisible ridge. Whatever it was, he knocked right into it, went flying, and rolled down, down, down, unable to do anything except clench his jaw and hold on to his side.
When the long slide finally ended and his body came to a stop, he wasn’t sure he was still alive. He had to get up and leave, but he couldn’t manage it. He still heard the echo of the search, but now it was like a distant sound-track drifting above him from an upper floor.
How long did he have before they figured out what had happened?
Braced against the coming pain, he made himself sit up. Miraculously, neither his legs nor his arms were broken. Taking care, he slowly made it to his knees and then to his feet. He yelped in pain when he put weight on his left ankle. Reaching down, he discovered it was already swollen.
He wanted to scream at the Fates. Instead, he forced his feet forward. First one step, then another and another.
He’d lost the equipment belt in the fall, but somehow the deputy’s gun was still with him. Terrific. What the hell was he going to do with that? Other things on that belt would have been far more useful.
A dozen yards later, the woods thinned, then stopped altogether, and suddenly he found himself at the edge of the highway.
Strong lights dotted the road. He limped into the shadows and gazed at the plateau high above. How far had he fallen? He couldn’t believe he hadn’t broken his neck. But at least they were taking their time getting down to him.
Keeping in the shadows as much as possible, he began hobbling toward Crossroads. At the rate he was going, he’d never make it before dawn. If he came to a house, he could steal a car, but after fifteen minutes of walking, his ankle was killing him and there were no houses in sight.
Suddenly, out of the dark, the horizon bloomed light.
He drew in a breath.
A police car?
In the dark he wouldn’t be able to tell until the vehicle was practically on top of him.
But if it wasn’t the cops, he could miss out on his only chance to get back to town quickly.
Then again, who would be stupid enough to pick him up? It was the middle of the night. No way would anyone in their right mind stop for him.
Unless…
His fingers closed around Burgess’s weapon. It was hard and cool to the touch.
Mitch shuffled out into the middle of the road. The oncoming car’s headlights washed him in light.
He waved his arms, then pointed the gun at the car.
And prayed he wasn’t stepping right in front of the police.
Moses Dunn wasn’t normally a man who took life lightly. But it was Christmas, and if you were going to have a good time, Christmas is the time to have it. So he’d maybe had a couple more eggnogs than he should have. Stayed a little later at the roadhouse than he should. But hell, Christmas only came once a year.
But when he saw the man in the road waving his arms, he couldn’t help thinking it was punishment for that extra drink. Because of course he was seeing things. Then again, no telling what kind of ghosts walked the earth on Christmas. Shepherds. Kings. He slowed, not wanting to take a chance, then saw the gun aimed right at him.
Ghost or human, Moses wasn’t going to argue with no gun. He put on the brakes and squealed to a stop. The apparition opened the door and slid right into the passenger seat.
“I need a ride to Crossroads,” it said, sounding altogether real.
The ghost—or whatever it was—had him drive all over, and to tell the truth, the night was kind of a blur. What was clear as glass, though, was that gun. Moses didn’t want to come face-to-face with it again. So he conveniently forgot to mention the incident to anyone.
• • •
When they got to town, Mitch ordered the driver up the hill to the carriage house, hoping to pick up his truck. But the police had gotten there before him. Two cars were parked outside the house, one with blue lights flashing.
“Keep going,” Mitch said in a rush. “No! Don’t slow down,” he added as his driver started to do just that. Shit. Mitch ducked down in the seat and ordered the driver to go back over the river to the other side of town. Forget the truck; if he had to, he’d steal something. First, get Julia.
If there were police in front of his house, would there be more in front of Neesy’s? He’d never been to her home, but he knew the street and house number from a letter Julia had sent via Hannah. He had the driver snake in and around the neighborhoods until they found Pearl Street and cruised by the house.
Sure enough, there was a blue-and-white sitting at the curb.
As much as Mitch didn’t want to take another step on his bum ankle, he couldn’t exactly pull up and waltz in. So he had th
e driver drop him off blocks away, but not before tossing away the man’s cell phone. If nothing else, that would give him time before he called the police. He wouldn’t need much. Just enough to get Julia.
As for transportation, Neesy had a car, didn’t she? Not that he was happy about taking it. Not only was it showy and would get him noticed, it was her pride and joy. But he couldn’t worry about that now. Someday he’d make it up to her.
When he was alone, he began the trek back. Weaving through backyards and alleys, he slunk in an uneven line toward Pearl Street. The houses were small and cramped and too similar in nature not to have been planned that way. With their old-fashioned porches and clapboard siding, they were too old for Levittown. They had a company-built feel. Railroad or factory. A place for the workers to come home to. Once upon a time, the Hanovers had built whole towns with those kinds of houses. Ones that were just big enough for the laboring classes.
Except there was no railroad anymore. And the factory was gone, too. So the whole area was run-down now. Some of the houses were abandoned with boards nailed over windows. Some, like Neesy’s, slogged on, persevering despite the circumstances.
He’d counted down from the corner, so he knew which one it was even from the back. He took his time going into the yard, scouting it out first to make sure no one was stationed back there.
When it seemed clear, he limped between the line of hedge that separated Neesy from her neighbors. Bent low, he crept to the back door. Turned the knob and pushed. It was open.
He took that as a good sign, though no one locked their doors in Crossroads.
Inside, the dark shielded him. He stood still to orient himself, and the smell of limes and lemons wafted over him—the same citrus fragrance that sometimes floated past him at Crick’s whenever Neesy whooshed by. It sent him tumbling back to a time when everything worked. When no one knew who he was, and Julia was protected. When he even dared to let himself do something men did every day—be attracted to a woman. Christ, things were fucked up. He’d spent enough time pushing her away; what the hell was he doing drawing her in now?
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