by Jean Barrett
Appeals could drag on for months, years, he realized bitterly. And in the end nothing came of them, because without hard new evidence jury verdicts were seldom overturned. He would be locked away in a cell, and Joel would grow up without him. He could stand everything but that. The thought of losing his son drove him crazy.
The numbness that had muffled his response to his situation rapidly faded once he left the courtroom, like a drug wearing off to leave nothing but the raw pain. That and his outrage.
This was real. He was cuffed to a transport belt, wearing a bright orange coverall and seated in the back of a patrol car. There was a screen separating him from the two special deputies who were his escorts. He was on his way to a permanent facility. Boonville, someone had said. He was going to Boonville Prison, and there was nothing he could do about it.
His angry frustration must have been evident in the way his rangy figure went rigid on the seat. The burly prisoner who shared the caged rear of the car with him observed it with a raspy-voiced, “You got a kid you’re leavin’ behind, huh, Rhyder?”
Noah glanced at him. He had a face scarred by acne and a battered nose. He was Kenny DeMarco, a mobster with powerful connections, although those connections had obviously failed him since he, too, was on his way to Boonville. However, he didn’t seem-particularly worried about that.
“Yeah,” Noah muttered.
“That’s tough,” Kenny said. “Shouldn’t have to leave your kid behind. I like kids. No bull about ‘em.”
DeMarco was relaxed, almost nonchalant about the whole thing. He’s probably been in Boonville before, Noah thought. He didn’t want to talk about Joel with the mobster. He turned his head away, his hopelessness intensifying as he fixed his brooding gaze on the passing scene.
There wasn’t much to see. They were traveling through an after-hours warehouse district, headed toward the interstate that would carry them out of the city. There was no other traffic in the area.
“This isn’t the direct way,” objected the young deputy from the passenger side of the front seat.
The senior deputy at the wheel responded with a brusque, “You ought to know the routine by now. We always vary the route. A precaution, remember?”
The patrol car moved on up the narrow street with the blank-faced warehouses looming close on either side, like the walls of a canyon.
The young deputy started to say, “This can’t be ri—”
He was interrupted by a panel truck that raced out of a blind alley and stopped directly in front of them, blocking the street. Startled, Noah felt himself jerked forward on the seat as the patrol car slammed to a halt to avoid a collision.
“Back up,” the young deputy said. “Get us out of here.”
“Can’t,” the older officer said. “There’s another vehicle now pulled up behind us.”
“Hell, it’s an ambush!” The young deputy reached toward the radio to call for assistance. That was when the officer at the wheel whipped out his service revolver and shot his companion through the head. The body slumped sideways against the door.
It all happened so swiftly, and with such casual horror, that Noah was too stunned to really understand the scene. It was only when the back doors of the patrol car were torn open, and grinning gunmen leaned in from both sides, that it all registered with him.
“You okay, Kenny?” one of them asked.
“I will be when I get out of this harness they got me in.”
“Keys,” the order was barked to the deputy at the wheel.
Seconds later the mobster had been freed of the cuffs and the transport belt. He nodded toward Noah. “Him, too.”
“Damn it, Kenny, what are you doing? Guy’s a witness. Shoot him, and let’s get out of here.”
“Shut up,” DeMarco growled. “He’s got a kid. Besides—” He snatched the revolver away from the deputy and began to wipe it clean of fingerprints. “Come on, get him out of that thing. I know what I’m doing.”
When Noah’s restraints had been removed, DeMarco shoved the .38 Special at him, holding it with his handkerchief-wrapped hand on the barrel.
“Here’s how it works, Rhyder. You take the gun, and we let you go free.”
“Why?”
“Because you killed that cop in the front seat. That’s what this deputy here is gonna swear after they find him cuffed and gagged and with a convincing lump on his head. That’s what all of us here are gonna swear if the worst happens and anybody gets caught. But the worst ain’t gonna happen. Everybody’s gonna be smart and disappear, right?”
“I don’t like this,” the deputy said nervously.
“Who asked you? You forgetting you were paid a bundle to cooperate? You made your decision, Rhyder?”
But Noah knew he had no choice. Not if he wanted to live. Not if he wanted to see Joel again. And for that he must be their scapegoat. His hand closed on the handle of the revolver.
“Get out of here, Rhyder. Lose yourself, and don’t get recaptured unless you want to wind up in Boonville after all. Believe me, it ain’t a nice place.”
Noah ran, charging down the alley from which the panel truck had emerged. He didn’t look back. He didn’t permit himself to think about the young officer slumped in the front seat of the patrol car. He’d be finished if he thought about that deputy. He had to concentrate on other needs, like finding some way to get rid of this orange coverall that marked him as a fugitive.
But mostly he thought about where he was going. He knew the address. He hadn’t seen Joel since his arrest, but his lawyer had informed him where and with whom his son had been placed. He had to get there before Brett Buchanan claimed him. No way was he going to let Buchanan have his kid. He and Joel would disappear together. And he wasn’t going to consider the madness of his intentions. He was desperate.
Chapter Two
Ellie had turned on the TV, hoping to hear a weather report for her trip tomorrow. Busy with her packing, however, she somehow missed the forecast. She didn’t bother switching off the set. It was a kind of company for her in the empty house as she moved from room to room, collecting her gear.
She was headed out the front door with another load for the van when she caught the familiar name on the latest newscast. Noah Rhyder.
She didn’t go back into the parlor to listen. His name had been all over the news for months, and she was weary of hearing it. The trial was finished. Why couldn’t the media forget about it, let those who’d been hurt by the tragedy try to recover and get on with their lives? But, of course, since he’d been sentenced this morning, ordered to prison, they were milking the story for its last morsel.
Ellie knew the segment would be just another rehash of the whole ugly thing. Noah Rhyder, a fallen architect who’d been threatening his father-in-law for weeks before the murder. Noah Rhyder, who had cold-bloodedly smashed in the skull of Senator Howard Buchanan in the family mansion in Ladue. She refused to hear it all again. She went on with her packing.
It was dusk by the time she had the van fully loaded. She was probably taking too much with her. Aside from the fact that her art supplies alone took up a great deal of room, she had more clothes than she needed. Well, that’s what vans were for.
The house felt cold when she got back inside. Late October and, with the sun down, the temperature had dropped. The TV was still on. She shut it off and moved to the thermostat, nudging up the dial. There should have been the reassuring rumble of the furnace kicking in. There was only silence.
Ellie made a face. The furnace was old and temperamental. She ought to be replacing it instead of spending precious funds on a week in the Ozarks. No, she needed this break. The furnace would have to wait for repairs until she got back. In the meantime, she was still cold.
There was wood already laid in the fireplace grate. Kneeling on the hearth, she got busy and kindled a fire. Flames were licking at the logs, sending out a comforting glow, when the doorbell sounded. Getting to her feet, she replaced the screen, flipped on the porch
light, and pulled the front door back on its chain.
Ellie blinked at the sight of a uniformed policeman standing on her porch.
“Ms. Matheson?”
“Yes.”
He held out his identification for her inspection, though she didn’t doubt his legitimacy. She could glimpse through the gingerbread trim of the porch a patrol car parked at the curb, its light flashing.
“Is something wrong?”
“If I could speak to you for a minute, ma’am…”
His tone was grave. She didn’t like it. “Just a second.”
Closing the door, she released the chain, then opened up again, inviting him inside. He stepped into the parlor, a lanky, balding man who cast a glance around the room before he faced her with a thin smile.
“You been listening to any of the news reports this evening, Ms. Matheson?”
“I had the set on, but I…no, I haven’t, actually.”
“Uh-huh. Well, then you couldn’t have heard about the escape.”
“Esca—What are you talking about?” He was making her decidedly nervous.
“There was a hijacking of the vehicle transporting Noah Rhyder and another prisoner to the facility in Boonville. Both men got away.”
She stared at him in shock. That was what the newscast had been about, not the trial. “How is that possible?”
“It’s being investigated,” he said evasively.
“But what has this got to do with—” She didn’t finish. She suddenly understood why the police were visiting her. “You don’t mean he would try to come here?”
“Ma’am, I don’t like to alarm you, but you should understand that Rhyder is armed and dangerous. He killed one of the young deputies escorting him.”
“Dear God,” she whispered.
Until this moment, Ellie had reserved some shreds of sympathy for the man who was Joel’s father. She’d wanted to think that, even though he had committed murder, there had to be something about him that was decent. Otherwise, how could he have produced a child like Joel? Now all she felt was disgust. Noah Rhyder had killed again, apparently without mercy. He deserved no one’s sympathy.
“It’s because of his son, isn’t it?” she said. “That’s what you’re warning me about. You think he might try to come here to get Joel. Wasn’t he told—”
“Yes, ma’am. He was informed that custody of his boy was granted to the uncle.”
“Brett Buchanan already collected him.” And thank God for that, she thought. Thank God Joel is far away by now and safe. “The child isn’t here with me any longer.”
“Maybe Rhyder realizes that, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he isn’t even thinking about trying to get to his kid. Probably all he’s got on his mind is running. Look, he isn’t going to make it. They never do. We’ll have him back in cuffs in a few hours. Meantime, we just need you to be extra careful. I take it you haven’t seen anything? Heard anything?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You’re going to be fine,” he tried to reassure her. “Patrol cars will be cruising the neighborhood all night. We’ll keep watching your house, and an officer will check on you again later. No way he’s going to get anywhere near you, but if there’s someone you’d like to stay with until—”
“No. I have some last-minute things here to take care of. I’m planning on leaving for the Ozarks early in the morning.”
“Sounds like a good idea for you to be gone, just in case Rhyder should still be on the loose tomorrow. I take it that’s what the loaded van in the drive is all about. I had a look through it before I came to the door to make sure it’s okay, but you can’t leave it out there unlocked all night.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I have a garage at the back, but I got sidetracked before I could put the van away.” She explained about the furnace and her need to build a fire.
“Let’s get it put inside right now,” he urged.
Ellie got her keys from her purse and joined him back at the front door. She was ready to follow him out of the house when he stopped her.
“You have any doors or windows in here unlocked?”
“It’s all tight,” she assured him. “The neighborhood’s always been safe, but when I started to care for children I made it a practice to lock up everything after sundown. That’s why the front door was already on its chain.”
“Good habit. Secure the door behind us now.”
Full darkness had settled on the driveway. The officer had a large flashlight with him. When they reached the van, he directed its strong beam through the windows before permitting Ellie to slip behind the wheel. Then he walked along beside the van as she drove to the back, her finger hitting the opener to raise the garage door.
David had never shared Ellie’s enchantment with the house. He had tolerated it, but only after a modern garage had been attached to the rear. She’d never liked the windowless structure, convinced it spoiled the original lines of the old house. In this situation, though, she appreciated its safety and convenience.
The shallow lot, however, made the garage too narrow. That’s why it had been easier to load the van in the driveway and why she had to squeeze out of the car now before she went to the opening where the officer waited
“Okay?” he asked, glancing around the interior of the garage.
“Yes.”
“I’ll check the outside before I leave. You see or hear anything you don’t like after I’m gone, you go straight for the phone and report it to nine-one-one. Don’t worry, Ms. Matheson. We’ll catch him.”
He moved away into the gloom as she punched the button to lower the door. Back inside the house, she could see the bobbing flashlight from the windows as he circled the house. Then he was gone, the patrol car pulling away into the night.
She was alone, and she thought about Noah Rhyder. He was somewhere out there in the blackness, probably miles away, but she couldn’t shake her uneasiness. Couldn’t stop glancing at the windows, expecting to see a livid face pressed to the glass. She wasn’t satisfied until she went through every room in the house, lowering all the shades and turning on lights everywhere.
She was shivering when she got back to the parlor. Not nerves this time. She was cold again. The fire had burned low. There were two split lengths left in the basket. She added them to the grate. One of them was misshapen, requiring that it be perched precariously on the bars. The two logs caught and started to blaze, but they wouldn’t last. She needed to bring in more wood from the stack at the front of the garage.
Her reluctance to go out there was foolish, she told herself as she passed through the dining room and the kitchen. The garage was perfectly secure. Hadn’t she and the police officer made certain of that? She was spooking herself needlessly.
But once on the other side of the connecting door, she wasted no time in gathering the firewood. Her arms were loaded with split lengths when she heard it. The sound of the rear door on the van sliding back on its track. Ellie whipped around in alarmed disbelief as the tall fugitive, bearded and filthy, emerged from the shadowy depths of the van.
How was it possible? How could Noah Rhyder be here when the officer had checked the interior of the van? It must have happened while he was inside the house talking to her! Rhyder must have been out there watching and had seized that brief interval to enter the van and burrow down under all her things, recognizing it as an opportunity to get at her! All the time he’d been here, concealed and waiting!
He was no longer waiting. He was moving toward her, gun in hand. Her action was one of pure desperation. She released the logs from her arms. They went spilling onto the floor, rolling against his feet, tripping him up.
Tripping him up long enough for Ellie to escape. His curse bellowed behind her as she fled into the kitchen, slammed the door, turned the lock with fingers that trembled.
It was a flimsy lock. There had been no need for a stronger one when the garage was so solid. She knew the lock wouldn’t hold. His body was already heavin
g powerfully against the door.
The phone! She could think of nothing in her mindless terror but reaching the phone! Calling for help!
She raced through the kitchen. Through the dining room. Her foot caught on the leg of a chair. She went down, sprawling on the braided rug. She could hear the door to the garage bursting open as she scrambled to her feet.
He caught her in the parlor just as she reached for the phone. Snatching her around, he pinned her against the wall, holding her there with a fistful of her long brown hair. She could feel the barrel of the revolver squeezed against her throat.
“Where is he?” he demanded, his voice like gravel. “Where’s my kid?”
She was too frightened to answer him. Too aware of her hopeless situation. Even if she dared to cry out, there was no one to hear her. No one to help. The neighbor on one side was on her nursing shift at the hospital. The elderly man on the other side was frail and hard-of-hearing.
The hand wrapped around her hair tightened, making her flesh crawl when his knuckles came in contact with her scalp. “Where?” he growled, his hot breath lashing her skin as he shoved his face menacingly into hers.
“He isn’t here,” she managed to croak. “You can search the house if you don’t believe me.”
“Buchanan?”
“This afternoon. He collected Joel early this afternoon.”
“And took him where?”
“I don’t know. Back to the house in Ladue, I suppose.”
There was a long moment of silence as their gazes collided, his dark, burning eyes searching hers for the truth. Ellie was suddenly, stunningly aware of a savage virility, an intensity that was dangerous but at the same time mesmerizing.
The spell was shattered by a noise from the fireplace. Alert for trouble, his head swiveled toward the sound. Ellie turned her own gaze. The precarious log had collapsed, one half of it rolling out of the grate to come resting up against the screen on the brick hearth.
The interruption reminded her of what she had momentarily forgotten. That Noah Rhyder had a gun to her throat, that he was a convicted murderer who had killed twice and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.