Julia had snuck out one afternoon and stashed the backpack with the bellhop. First thing that morning, she’d called down to have it ready at the desk.
She had one more thing to do. She’d never asked Dutch for money, but the morning of her escape, she asked him for fifty dollars.
“For food and stuff at the park,” she said.
“You won’t need money.”
“But—” She shut up. He was staring at her with that cold look in his eyes. He didn’t like it when she argued with him, and she’d learned not to defy that blank chill.
A knock on the door interrupted. “The Blunts are in the lobby,” Gus said when Dutch opened it.
“All right. She’s ready. Enjoy your day, Julia. And don’t wander away from Gus.”
Julia opened her mouth in alarm. “He’s not coming with us, is he?”
“Gus is to be with you at all times,” Dutch said sternly. “Unless I have your word you won’t wander off, I can’t let you go.”
So not fair! “What about my money?”
“As I said, you won’t need any. Gus will take care of it. She can have anything she wants,” Dutch said to Gus.
“Of course,” the big man said.
Julia glowered. “Well, come on,” she said to Gus.
“Yes, ma’am,” the big man said, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wink at her.
That made her scowl even harder.
36
While Neesy slept, Mitch pored over the map in the darkened hotel room. Disney World covered forty-seven square miles, which was twice as big as Manhattan; no way could he check it all out. Not without a couple of centuries. Or an army.
Or a crystal ball.
He crumpled the thing in frustration and stomped away.
The hotel room felt like a prison. It had been a bad idea to come. They should have stayed in some other place. Someplace where he’d be less likely to run into Dutch or his goons.
But that meant he’d also be less likely to run into Julia.
He looked at the bed, where Neesy was out cold. They’d driven nonstop from Chicago, and Neesy was so exhausted she’d dropped like a stone. He’d pulled the drapes and turned off the lights—all except the one by the desk—but she’d already been asleep and didn’t notice.
He couldn’t join her. Every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed of the dog split down the middle. Or the holes where Shelby Townsend’s eyes should be. Or Julia.
So he studied the map they’d picked up at a gas station and tried not to let panic overtake him.
Think. He had to think.
If Julia could choose, what part of the park would she go to?
He smoothed out the crumpled paper and stared at it again. There were six major areas, four theme parks and two water parks. But anyone coming to the park for the first time would probably start at the heart.
The Magic Kingdom.
But Julia had long outgrown Mickey Mouse. Would Cinderella’s castle draw her? Besides, how long had Julia been here, and how many times had she visited the park already?
Just then, his gaze caught something he hadn’t seen before.
Tom Sawyer Island.
A pinprick of hope. Julia had just read Tom Sawyer. She’d named that poor dog Huck, hadn’t she?
If there was a Tom Sawyer Island, maybe there was an Old Yeller Farm, or a King Solomon’s Mines. He found a pad of hotel paper on the desk and started a list.
An hour later, Neesy was still sleeping. A faint flush showed beneath her milky skin, and her hair tumbled around her face and the pillow. He sat at the edge of the bed and brushed a few strands back from her cheek. She murmured but didn’t wake.
He wished he could give her this peace forever. He wished he could give it to himself. Just looking at her soothed him. A hot rush of feeling ran from his belly up to his throat. He was crazy to have brought her. Crazy and selfish. But, Christ, he was glad she was here. Glad and grateful and falling deeper and deeper into her light-filled world. He hardly remembered what it was like to be alone, and he didn’t want to.
He kissed her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open. “Hey, you,” she mumbled. She gave him a sleepy smile, put her arms around his neck, and pulled him down for a real kiss.
The heat expanded inside him, expanded and melted into every nerve.
But it would have to wait. “Go back to sleep.”
She smiled sleepily. “Come to bed.” She rolled over, taking his hand with her.
He spooned around her, whispering in her ear, “I will. Gonna check out the park for a while first.”
“Mmm,” was all he got in response.
Just in case she didn’t remember their little conversation, he left a note, then slipped out of the room.
He bypassed the elevator, taking the stairs instead. Few people used the stairs, so he was less likely to run into anyone, especially Dutch.
It had been four days since he’d messed up his ribs and his ankle, not nearly time enough to heal. But when his foot was taped tight like it was now, he could put a little weight on it. And his ribs… Well, they only hurt when he laughed…. Gingerly, he hobbled down the steps and was almost at the lobby floor when voices and footsteps echoed up from below.
“Never work with kids and dogs. Whoever said that got it right.” Radio static, and the footsteps stopped. Another voice said, “We’re at the south staircase. Over.”
Mitch ducked through the door leading to the lobby. Leaving it open a crack, he glimpsed two men dressed like any other tourist in slacks and golf shirts. Except the walkie-talkies and the earpieces gave them away.
Hotel security or Dutch’s employees?
He snatched a ball cap off a table outside the gift shop and a pair of sunglasses off a rack. He hadn’t shaved in days, but he didn’t trust any of that to mask his identity. Head down, he stuck to the perimeter.
Was that bellhop staring at him?
Behind the registration desk—was the clerk watching him?
Mitch’s pulse rose and his mouth dried. The journey from the stairs to the door seemed the work of months instead of minutes. When he finally burst into the sun, he was shaking.
He wiped sweat from his forehead and found the stop for shuttles into the park. Merging with a large group, he shuffled onto a bus with them.
The Magic Kingdom was a hallucinatory experience. Snow White had a crowd of giggling, pointing children around her. A scowling Queen of Spades and a blond-haired Alice were having their picture taken with a pair of lanky twins in jeans. Strollers and diaper bags were everywhere. And people. All shapes, all ages. Wherever he looked, Mitch saw a blur of happy color. Nothing could be more ordinary and safe than right here in the middle of this fantasy.
Yet it left him bereft. Nauseous almost. His girl, his child, the person he’d pledged his life to protect, was in more danger here than anywhere. Because no one would believe anything bad could happen in a place like this. It was designed to make dreams come true, not nightmares.
Heading west to Frontierland, he dodged a couple speaking Japanese, a wide stroller for two, and a father with a squiggly toddler in his arms. Continually scanning the crowd, Mitch looked in vain for that one familiar face.
Then he came to a wooden footbridge over a river.
There on the other side was Julia.
Mitch stopped. Everything he’d been through—every fear, every ache—it all disappeared in a rush of joy. Even from the back he’d know that dark head anywhere. She was here; she was safe. He’d found her.
Ignoring his bum ankle and bruised ribs, he ran the rest of the way. Breathless with relief, he spun her around into a hug that nearly squeezed the life out of her.
She screamed. It wasn’t a happy scream, either.
Suddenly, a heavy hand yanked him away. “What the hell are you doing?” An angry man pushed him back.
Julia rushed to the man, who put his arm around her.
Except it wasn’t Julia. It was some other dark-haired little g
irl.
Mitch blinked as if that would clear his vision and miraculously morph the strange child into his own. “Sorry. I… I’m looking for my daughter. I thought…” He backed away. “Mistake. Sorry.” Mitch left quickly. Jesus, God, he couldn’t make an error like that again.
In less than a heartbeat, he’d gone from delight to distress, and the swift spill of emotion shook him to his core.
He bought a bottle of water from a vendor and swallowed most of it in one gulp. The rest he splashed on his face and neck to cool down even further. Then he continued with more caution, trying not to stop breathing every time he saw a dark-haired girl around Julia’s age.
The only way to get to Tom Sawyer Island was by raft, and a long line waited to board. Mitch examined the crowd from a distance, but no one familiar stood in the long, snaking queue. What he did notice were a lot of folks scurrying around it with walkie-talkies. They dressed as tourists, but they looked—from posture and expression—more like security.
Something was up.
Was it him? Were they looking for him?
He bolted around a corner and behind some trees, but there was no privacy in a theme park. An elderly man was also taking advantage of the shade. When he saw Mitch, he stepped out of the shadow and nodded toward the commotion. “You notice that, too?”
“What’s going on?” Mitch asked.
“Don’t know exactly. They’ve been running around like that for half an hour now. You ask me, someone’s lost.”
Or found? How could they have known half an hour ago not only that he would be in the park, but where?
A pair of kids dragged the older man away, and Mitch took a few steps out of his hiding place to squint toward the huddled group. They seemed to be waiting for something.
A speedboat came around a bend in the river and headed toward the raft dock.
Not something. Someone.
Dutch.
Mitch jerked back under the trees. The urge to stay out of his brother’s sight was as instinctive as breathing and honed over years of avoidance.
Dutch stepped out of the boat and went straight for the huddle of men and women.
From somewhere Mitch couldn’t see, another group appeared and joined with the first.
Bitsy and Tommy Blunt.
Mitch’s pulse began to chatter. What about Julia and Sara Jean? Were they on a ride? Having fun somewhere else? If so, why was park security swarming around the adults? He remembered the men on the staircase. Never work with kids and dogs.
Kids.
The blood pounded faster. Had something happened to the girls?
Dutch moved among the group like a swan among frogs. His thick, dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, and, as always, he looked horribly, sinfully handsome. Mitch thought about Shelby and Alicia and what he knew but couldn’t prove. Bitter resentment swirled through him, and it mixed with ferocious dread.
If Dutch had hurt Julia, too…
Every second of the last ten years, every tie Mitch had cut, every lie he’d told, every hardship he’d forced Julia to endure, it all exploded outward. He charged forward and toppled Dutch, his hand around his brother’s throat.
“What did you do, you monster? What did you do?”
Around him screams and shouts erupted. Hands tried to drag him away.
But he hung on, squeezing, pressing. God, let him die, let him die.
Strong arms ripped him away, but he didn’t go easily. He swung and howled and jerked to escape, but he was caught between two men.
“What did you do?” he shouted at Dutch. “Where’s Julia? What the fuck did you do to her?”
Dutch dusted himself off. As always, he was cool and calm. But Mitch didn’t miss the gleam of angry satisfaction in his eyes. “This man is a fugitive,” Dutch announced. “He should be taken directly to the police.”
“I am the police,” said one of the security detail in khakis and a Disney ball cap. “Deputy, Orange County Sheriff’s Department.” He turned to Mitch. “Sir, can I see some ID?”
“You don’t need ID,” Dutch said. “He’s Mitchell Hanover, also known as Mitch Turner. He’s wanted for murder and kidnapping. Call it in.”
Neither Tommy nor Bitsy said anything, but the look on their faces confirmed it.
“Call it in!” Dutch repeated.
“I don’t need to. We have a BOLO on him from the FBI.” The deputy gripped Mitch’s arm and herded him away.
Over his shoulder, Mitch called to the Blunts. “What happened? Where’s Julia?”
“Sir, I need you to come with me.” He pulled Mitch, who was forced to stumble along.
Tommy jogged alongside them. “They went to the restroom. They never came back.”
“That was almost an hour ago,” Bitsy wailed.
Rage surged through Mitch, pulsing with enough vehemence to break the deputy’s hold. He hurtled back, grabbed Dutch by his pristine white shirt. “Where are they? Where are they?”
“You should be restrained like the mad dog you are.” Dutch snatched himself away and pushed Mitch, who lost his footing.
The deputy and the other guards dove. Tackled, Mitch landed with a shock wave of pain. He tried to get up, but something shoved against his back, and whatever he’d suffered before was nothing compared to now. He arched, yowling in monstrous agony. Before the waves could subside, his hands were yanked behind and secured. Someone hauled him to his feet.
The deputy was aiming a bulky weapon at him. A Taser.
“Move.” The deputy shoved Mitch forward.
His back and side still throbbing, he couldn’t do much else.
“Don’t let him hurt her!” he shouted to Tommy and Bitsy, and got another hard shove for it.
“Shut up.”
The last thing he saw was the smirk on his brother’s face.
The deputy pushed him through a door half hidden behind trees. Inside, the magic vanished into a serviceable steel stairway. It led down to a concrete hallway lit with fluorescent lights. The walls were painted blue halfway up from the bottom, and a big square sign outlined in red told him he was below Liberty Square. Given the fact that his hands were tied—literally and figuratively—and he was a phone call away from prison, he was in no mood to appreciate the irony.
The corridors turned and merged with others. They passed utility carts, some parked, some hauling material down the corridor. Other directional signs pointed to Frontierland and Tomorrowland. The paint changed from blue to red to brown. A costumed woman held Mickey’s head in her hands, her own head looking odd and tiny in the mouse costume. They passed a cowboy and a Cinderella and lots of employees dressed in slacks and Disney vests.
“Where are we?” Mitch asked.
The cop eyed him warily. “Utilidors,” he said finally. “It’s how cast members get from place to place without having to go through the park. So you don’t see a cowboy walking through Tomorrowland,” he added. “And it’s where all the controls for the shows and parades are. Not to mention a nice locked room for people like you.”
A bend in the hallway took them past a cafeteria. Inside, ordinary joes shared tables with Aladdin and Snow White. They passed a huge smiling Mickey painted on a wall. Rows of lockers marched by. There were break rooms, vending machines, offices, and finally, one marked SECURITY.
The cop pushed Mitch inside, where he thrust him into a chair against the wall. Several other men were milling around. A couple had on uniforms with military-style caps and silver badges. They looked a little like the rest of the costumed characters in the park. The others looked like park visitors.
The cop who’d captured him gestured to one of the latter. “Keep your eye on him,” he said, nodding to Mitch, then disappeared behind an inner door.
The guys stared at him, and he stared back. Eventually, they returned to whatever they were talking about before his entrance interrupted them.
The position of his arms behind his back was awful, and he shifted around trying to get comfortab
le. A useless undertaking. Just like his attack on Dutch. Ill-conceived, unthinking, stupid, stupid, stupid. He would never find Julia now.
And she was here. He could feel it. As much as the park itself was fascinating, seeing the inner workings was even more so. Julia would have found the real part of Disney World far more interesting than the fantasy.
Which gave him an idea.
“Hey!” he called out to the group. “Is there a bathroom around? I gotta go.”
“Dwayne will take you when he gets back out,” one of the men said, evidently referring to the cop who’d brought him in.
Mitch laid his head against the wall, closed his eyes, trying to look like he was in pain. He didn’t have to fake it much. “I don’t think I can wait.” He squirmed and jiggled his leg up and down.
“Oh, go on,” someone said. “Ease up a little.”
Mitch opened his eyes. A young security guard was standing over him. “I’ll take you.” Mitch had hoped the request would get him out of the security office, but the guard escorted Mitch to a bathroom deeper in. On the way, he scanned the hallways for a way out. No windows, no doors. Nothing but a narrow corridor that led to the bathroom and back. Frustrated, he wanted to kick something.
The guard cut off the Flex-Cuffs so Mitch could use the urinal, but even if he took the chance to run, he could only escape back to the room with all the other security men. Still, he did his business as slowly as he could, trying to figure his best move.
When he could delay no longer, he washed his hands and dried them under the hand dryer. It was one of those new ones with jet-engine air propulsion. It heated fast, and the force rippled his skin for the few seconds he held his hands under it.
Two Lethal Lies Page 20