by Sharon Sala
Tara was torn between wanting to throw herself into Flynn’s arms for what he’d said and wanting Michael to spill the beans so this could be over.
I hid it. Tell Mona it’s with Aunt Tillie.
Tara nodded. “He said, ‘I hid it. Tell Mona it’s with Aunt Tillie.’”
“What does all that mean?” Flynn muttered.
“Maybe your mother will know.”
“Oh my God,” Flynn said, and began pacing the floor. “Dad! How is this going to help Tara? What if we can’t find this in time? Who’s after her? Give us a name?”
May . . .
He disappeared.
“Oh. He’s gone,” Tara said.
“What did he say?”
“He started to say something, but all he got out was the word ‘may,’ which means nothing.”
Flynn took her in his arms. He was so rattled he was shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If something happens to you because of all this I’ll never forgive him. You have to tell your cop friends. Maybe they can—”
Tara was as scared as he was, but couldn’t let on. Nothing good would come of both of them freaking out.
“We’ll talk to your mom, but not tonight. She and Uncle Pat deserve some happiness. Let this night be for them. Come sit down.”
“I can’t sit,” he said.
“Then we’ll stand,” she said, and made a quick about-face, grabbed her iPod, scanned the titles, selected, then set it on the speaker.
Slow country music filled the room. Flynn looked at her, then sighed and opened his arms.
Tara walked into them, smiling as she looked up. “The last time we danced together was out at Boomer Lake on that old pier, remember?”
“I remember everything about you,” he said softly.
He swept her into a quick turn and began slow-dancing her between the sofa and the television, then behind it and into the kitchen, then out and down the hall into the shadows—still dancing, still in each other’s arms.
It was the best night of Tara’s life, but if Michael O’Mara didn’t come through for them, it could very easily become the last night. Living on the edge wasn’t living. It was waiting to die.
Millicent and Henry were sitting on the back of the sofa, watching the two young lovers. There was no need for words. They’d known this day would come. Their baby was growing up. They just needed to get her over this latest hurdle safely so she could continue the trip.
IT WAS FIFTEEN minutes to midnight when Flynn woke up with his fingers tangled in Tara’s hair. The television show they’d been watching was obviously over, and the program was showing a huge crowd down at Bricktown, in downtown Oklahoma City. The camera was on a big shiny ball, and the countdown to midnight was on. The last thing he remembered was watching The Flaming Lips performing onstage at the Zoo Amphitheatre. It appeared he wasn’t the only one who’d zonked out. Tara was stretched out on the sofa with her head in his lap, sound asleep. She’d become important to him in ways he would never have imagined. She wasn’t just his girlfriend anymore. She was the sail that kept him on a steady course.
He glanced at the clock. Not long until midnight. He untangled his fingers from her hair and then rubbed the back of his finger down her cheek.
“Wake up, Moon Girl. It’s almost midnight.”
Tara took a slow breath and then opened her eyes, groaning as she pushed herself upright. “I went to sleep. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I did, too. It’s almost midnight,” he said, pointing at the clock.
“Oh! Oh, my gosh!” she said, and jumped up. “Wait. I’ve got to brush my hair and—”
He was laughing as he stood up and stretched. “You need to brush your hair to see in the New Year?”
“It’s a girl thing,” she said, and dashed down the hall to the bathroom.
Flynn was still smiling as he walked into the kitchen. He got a cold pop out of the refrigerator, two glasses out of the cabinet, and divided up the drink. It wasn’t champagne, but then they weren’t twenty-one, either.
Tara came back into the kitchen with the tangles gone and a smile on her face.
Breath caught in the back of Flynn’s throat as he watched her walking toward him. She was all long legs in tight jeans and a body that filled out that white sweatshirt just fine.
Without thinking, he tuned into her thoughts and tuned out just as quickly before someone made a move into a place neither one was ready to go. He handed over one of the glasses.
“It’s not champagne, but it’s legal.”
She smiled as she took a sip. “It’s bubbly. It tickled my nose. It’s perfect.”
They lifted their glasses.
“To us,” Flynn said.
They took a quick drink then looked through the doorway to the television in the next room. They could hear the crowd counting down the seconds.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Flynn took the glass out of Tara’s hands and set it on the counter, then took her in his arms.
“Happy New Year, Tara Luna.”
“Happy New Year, Flynn O’Mara.”
That kiss was seventeen years in the making and the culmination of every dream a young girl might have had of happily ever after.
And when it was finally over, they didn’t speak or move; standing cheek to cheek in an embrace while every thought they had was playing live and in color in each other’s head.
It was nearly an hour later before Pat came home from the party. Flynn was long gone and Tara was in her room asleep. He peeked in to reassure himself she was okay, and then got ready for bed, happy that tomorrow was a holiday and a day to sleep in. He had no idea that Tara’s life was in danger, or that Flynn would wind up in a race against time to save her.
TARA HAD BEEN dozing, waiting for her uncle to get home. It wasn’t until she heard his key in the door, and then the familiar sound of his footsteps that she relaxed her vigilance and went to sleep.
The feathers tied to the dream catcher on the wall above her bed shifted slightly as Millicent slipped past to settle onto the bed with Tara. She had often slept beside her when Tara was little and having bad dreams, wrapping her in ethereal arms and cradling her as best she could. She hadn’t done it in years, but her fear for Tara’s safety had drawn her back to old habits.
Henry had traded his coonskin cap for a suit of armor and a sword and stood silently in a corner, watching the doorway. If an intruder came, he was ready to defend his girl.
Pat snored softly in his bed without dreaming, unaware the residents in the house were preparing for a war.
When they woke the next morning, none of them could have known they were on the verge of the greatest battle they would ever face. Not even Tara, who saw ghosts and spoke to spirits, could see into her own future. All she felt was an impending doom without a timeline to track it, so she made pancakes for breakfast because they were her favorite, trying not to think of it as a last meal.
IT WAS NEW Year’s Day.
Marsh stared at a map of the city of Stillwater. The little house on Duck Street, where Pat Carmichael lived with his niece, Tara Luna, was circled in red. He had three different escape routes marked on the map, all of which would eventually get them out of town and back here to May’s house. After reading of all of the teenager’s exploits in the aftermath of the tornado that had hit the city last fall, he was convinced that all she had to do was tune in to the money’s location and tell them where to dig. He knew just enough to be dangerous, if she wouldn’t cooperate.
Tomorrow, Tara’s school would resume. Marsh and his assistants would be stationed at the end of the block on her street, watching for the uncle to leave for work. Once he was gone, they’d grab her and run. No one would even know she was missing until long after school began, and even then, it shouldn’t be a cause for alarm. Lots of teenagers skipped school. He certainly had in his day. Why would she be any different?
PAT WAS SOPPING up pancakes with great abandon while talking about the party from the night before. “I met this guy who works out at the country club. Really nice fellow. His wife is a teacher at one of the elementary schools.”
Tara listened as she smeared another pat of butter on the hot stack on her plate, while Pat kept talking.
“Mona said she went to school with his wife at Ripley. Have we ever been to Ripley? It’s not far from here, but Mona said, as a town, there’s not much left there anymore.”
Tara reached for the syrup and poured some on her pancakes, then sat down and took her first bite. The pancakes were light and fluffy, and there was still butter on the bite that hadn’t melted. That first bite was always her favorite. She uhmmed in pleasure.
Pat looked up at her and smiled.
“These are delicious, honey. You’re a good cook. I don’t think I say that enough, but you are. You have your mother’s touch. She could make anything taste good, even when there wasn’t much to work with.”
Tara smiled. She liked it when Uncle Pat mentioned her mother like this. It made her feel connected, even though she didn’t have a single memory of her parents’ existence. She continued to eat as Pat talked more about the party.
“They had a live band that played everything from ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ to ‘Who Let The Dogs Out,’ and by the way, Mona sure can dance. I had to go some to keep up with her.”
Tara eyed her uncle, trying to imagine him sweeping Mona around a dance floor. “Did she like your new outfit?”
Pat smirked a little. “She said I was handsome, so I guess the answer is yes.”
“You are handsome, Uncle Pat.”
He shrugged. “When I was younger, girls used to say I looked a little bit like Sean Connery. ’Course, young people these days don’t even know who that is, but he was ‘the’ James Bond in my day.”
She smiled. He used to say that a lot when she was little, and then he’d sort of let go of that happy part of his life. It was good to know he was back in that mindset again.
“So, are you and Mona getting serious?”
He frowned. “We’re dating.” Then he changed the subject. “Did you and Flynn have a good time last night?”
Tara nodded, unaware she had a dreamy expression on her face he didn’t much like.
“We did. We ate the snacks he brought and some of the fudge I made. We even danced a little bit and then fell asleep on the sofa watching TV and almost missed seeing in the New Year.”
Pat wanted to say more, but didn’t. Tara was only a couple of months shy of eighteen, which was legal age. She’d never given him a day of trouble in the boy department, and he wasn’t going to start pushing his weight around now. Besides, he liked Flynn and, for now, that was enough.
“So what do you want to do today?” he asked.
She shrugged. “The snow is melting, but Nikki is still sick. Flynn and his mom are going out of town to a family dinner today. I think I’d just as soon stay home. Besides, the Oklahoma State Cowboys are playing in a bowl game this afternoon, and we’ll want to watch that. I might go for a walk later just to get out of the house, but that’s as far as I’d want to go.”
“Good. So it’s settled. By any chance, is there enough batter for another stack of pancakes?”
She nodded and started to get up to make them, but Pat waved her off.
“You keep eating. I’ve got this.”
She poured some more syrup on her pancakes and dug in while he used up the last of the batter. The day was starting out in a good way.
TARA MADE sandwiches and snack foods near noon and put them all in the refrigerator. Still full of pancakes, neither one of them wanted lunch and decided to wait until mid-afternoon and eat during the bowl game. With a couple of hours before it began, Tara was ready to get out of the house. She had on a pair of old jeans, a blue sweatshirt, and had her hair tied back at the nape of her neck. She bundled up in her heavy coat and went to the front closet to get her old cowboy boots and gloves. The sun was out and slowly melting the snow, but it was still cold. When Pat saw her carrying her boots to the front door, he spoke up.
“Hey honey, if you want to go somewhere, I’ll take you.”
“I’m not going anywhere in particular. I’m just going for a walk. I have my phone. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you have gloves?”
“In my pocket.”
“Okay, but don’t stay gone too long, and if you freeze out, give me a call and I’ll come get you.”
She nodded. “And if you get hungry before I get back, there’s food in the fridge.”
He waved.
She slipped out the door and put on her gloves as she started down the steps. The cold air was like a slap in the face to the blah feeling she’d been having. This was just what she needed.
The crust on the top of the snow made crunching sounds as she walked toward the street. A part of her wanted to run through the pristine white, throw herself down on her back, and make angels in the snow like when she was little. But knowing she’d have snow in her hair and down her neck, never mind the wet clothing, dampened the urge. Rational thinking prevailed.
When she got to the sidewalk, she turned left, heading toward the university. It was exciting to know that this time next year she’d be a student at OSU. She had no idea what her course of study might be, but had a couple of years to figure that out.
About four blocks from home, a car turned the corner and came down the street toward her. She recognized Davis Breedlove and Bethany Fanning. She’d had a rocky start with the two when she first started school here. Making friends with the head cheerleader at Stillwater High School and the quarterback of the football team had not been on her wish list. But life, circumstance, and Tara’s psychic abilities had saved Bethany from dying at the hands of an abductor.
Davis braked and rolled down a window.
“Hey, Tara! Need a ride?”
“No, I’m just out for a walk, but thank you!”
They smiled and drove on.
Her steps felt lighter. She had friends, good friends, something she’d never had before she and Uncle Pat moved here.
A few blocks later, she found herself walking on campus. It would be a couple of weeks before a new semester would begin, so it was nearly absent of students, but the vibes were still there—hopes and dreams of so many futures. She wanted to be a part of that.
She was just about to head back when she saw a man come out of a building up ahead and realized it was Nate Pierce, the assistant professor of geology. Their lives had already crossed twice in the short time she and Pat had lived in Stillwater, and she considered him a friend. The dream catcher over her bed was a gift from him and his family.
When he saw her, he looked surprised and then smiled and headed toward her.
“Hello! Are you lost?”
She laughed. “No, just out for a walk. I bet you’re on your way somewhere to watch the bowl game.”
He laughed, his dark eyes twinkling. “Guilty. I’m meeting some friends at Eskimo Joe’s, which guarantees it will be a loud and noisy game.”
Tara smiled.
Nate eyed her carefully. There was something different about her today. “Is everything okay? You seem . . . quieter.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine. Just dealing with some personal stuff.”
He frowned. “If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask. You saved my niece’s life. It would be my honor to return a favor.”
Tara shook her head. “I’m fine, and you better get going, or you’ll miss kick-off. I’m heading home myself.”
“Want a ride?”
“No. I’m good, but thank you, Nate.”
He started to leave and then stopped, feeling a concern that seemed out of place. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, and walked away.
The sun was halfway between zenith and the western horizon when Tara turned and headed for home. She was starting to get hungry an
d thought of the sandwiches and dip she’d made for game time. She was smiling to herself, certain that Uncle Pat was most likely already digging in. She took out her cell phone and hit speed dial to call home.
Pat answered on the second ring. She could hear the roar of the television and the pre-game banter of the announcers.
“Hey, Uncle Pat, it’s me.”
“Hi, sugar. Are you on your way home?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t you want me to come get you?”
“No. You’ll miss kick-off. Just save me some food. I’m starving.”
He laughed. “Deal. See you soon.”
“Love you.”
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Why did that feel like goodbye instead of a gesture of affection?
“Love you, too, honey. Hurry home.”
She disconnected, dropped her phone in her pocket and increased the length of her stride. All of a sudden, the urge to get home was overwhelming. She looked behind her, but there was no one there. Not a car in sight, or a person on either side of the street. She told herself she was just being silly, but kept moving, anxious to get within the four walls of home.
Chapter Five
MARSH AND VINCE had come to town purposefully to scope out the different streets they could use for escape routes should the need arise. They’d already driven past the target house on Duck Street and were about fifteen blocks away when Vince suddenly pointed at a tall, dark-haired girl walking toward them on the sidewalk.
“Hey! Isn’t that her? Isn’t that Tara Luna?”
Marsh’s heart skipped a beat. It was her, and the fact that she was out here all alone, and there wasn’t another car in sight, seemed like an omen.
“Yes, that’s her,” Marsh said.
“What are we gonna do?” Vince asked.
“Shut up and let me think,” Marsh said, and drove past without looking at her.
The moment he reached the end of the second block, he made a U-turn in the street and backtracked. This was too good an opportunity to ignore. They were coming up fast behind her as he threw the Taser into Vince’s lap.