He held the car steady at around eighty, looking for some combination of events that would allow him to evade his pursuers. This was what he was best at. Improvising. Taking advantage of whatever the situation offered. Always ready to take a chance because he had nothing else to lose. And so far he had been remarkably lucky. Which probably meant that some day soon his luck was going to run out, he acknowledged ruefully. Just not today, he thought, automatically studying the traffic patterns ahead. Just not today. He wasn’t sure if that was a plan or a prayer.
“Hold on,” he said softly to the woman beside him, when the opportunity he’d been looking for appeared. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he was aware that she had reacted, turning toward him at the command.
He pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, accelerating suddenly, and the pickup faded behind for an instant. The kid driving reacted just as he’d anticipated, quickly increasing speed. The huge truck Deke had targeted loomed ahead of him, and he guided the Pontiac into the passing lane to go around it. Only then did he realize there were two eighteen-wheelers traveling closely together in the right-hand lane.
Even better, he thought, adjusting what he had intended. The pickup eased over into the passing lane behind him, flying now, pushed to its limits and far less stable at this speed than the car he was driving. The exit warning sign flashed by, barely visible on his right before his front bumper was parallel with the rear of the second truck.
Timing, he thought, holding his breath. All a matter of timing. Hoping his was on the money, he swerved the Trans Am in between the trucks which had been running in tandem and worked the brakes. A angry blast on the horn of the rearward truck was an indication of how close he had come to kissing its front end.
He had left it too late, he thought as the exit appeared immediately on his right, but even as he thought that, he swerved again, out onto the ramp. The rear end fishtailed as he fought for control against the push of his own acceleration and the rush of wind from the eighteen-wheeler that blew by behind him. He righted the car, the frame rocking precariously as he tried not to overcorrect, but the rear flared out again, to the opposite side, tires squealing. He eased into the skid, not fighting it, and allowed the car to rocket sideways down the ramp for several seconds. Finally he regained control, straightening out and picking up speed, but his heart was in his throat and his stomach somewhere directly underneath it.
Breathing room. He knew that was all he’d accomplished. Unless the kids in the small truck were crazy enough to attempt a U-turn on the interstate and a return against oncoming traffic, they would be forced to travel to the next exit before coming back to pick up the trail. They might find a place where they could cross the median, but the division between the lanes had been deep, wide and wooded for miles. If he was lucky, it would continue that way for a few more, following the natural topography of the land.
“You better get dressed,” he ordered. “We’ll have to ditch the car.”
Her mouth dry and her heart still hammering in her throat, Becki began to obey, taking the gray knit athletic-style shorts he’d bought out of the bag. Her hands were trembling enough that the operation was pretty noisy.
“You okay?” he asked, for the first time glancing at her features, blanched and strained.
“Yes,” she said. She was embarrassed that her voice was so shaky. Low and uncertain. She swallowed and finally took a breath, deep enough to allow her to ask.
“How did they find us?”
Deke shrugged. “Somebody put out the word.”
“But how would they know what to look for? It was obvious back there in the lot that they were looking for something. If they didn’t know the car—”
“Maybe they did. Or maybe they’d been given a description of me. Or of you.” He let her think about that, about who would furnish them with her description. “It doesn’t matter how they knew. It never does any good to speculate on how they found you. What matters is getting out of this area before someone else spots us. And getting another car. If they didn’t know what we’re driving before, they certainly do now.”
She nodded. She laid the shorts in her lap and released the buckle of her seat belt. She bent down to slip the garment over her bare feet, pulling it up under the knee-length nightshirt.
When she lifted her bottom to ease the shorts the rest of the way on, Deke caught a flash of white panties covering a nicely rounded hip before he deliberately turned his attention back to the scene through the windshield. They were barreling down some county road, two-lane, not yet crowded with traffic. He needed a paved turnoff, one that led somewhere other than to a dead end. He glanced again at the woman beside him.
Becki had picked up the white lace bra, holding it a moment, trying to decide the best way to put it on without removing the nightshirt. She took her arms out of the sleeves, leaving the shirt draped loosely over her body from her shoulders. She leaned forward to slip the bra around her waist, and bringing the two ends together in the front, she fastened the hooks and eyes by feel, her hands hidden by the fall of the nightshirt. Then she turned the bra around, so that the fasteners were in the back and lifted the straps up over her arms.
“You know this road?” Deke asked. His eyes were carefully back on the windshield, and he hoped she wasn’t aware that they hadn’t been before.
Unthinkingly, Becki adjusted the fit of the bra over her breasts as she glanced up to study the scenery that was flying by.
“It goes to Coalridge.”
“Any turnoff that goes somewhere.”
She tried to think. “You can get back to the interstate if you turn right just past the traffic light. Pretty twisting roads, several cutoffs, but I can get you back to the highway from there.”
“Which traffic light?” he asked.
“There’s only one,” she said, her lips tilting. She didn’t look at him as she picked up the dark green tee he’d bought, but before she removed the nightshirt, she stole a quick glance. The only thing visible was his profile, its strength limned against the light of the window behind, outlining the nearly Roman nose and strong chin. The high cheekbones. Eyes resolutely on the two-lane ahead.
“I’m not looking,” he promised softly.
She felt the blood suffuse her cheeks because he’d felt compelled to offer that assurance. She was a grown woman. They were being chased by madmen. What the hell did it matter if he caught a glimpse of her bra? Why did she have to act like some sex-starved old maid, terrified of the first attractive man she encountered?
When the answer to that rhetorical question suggested itself, she suppressed it, turning her attention instead to completing the act of changing clothes so she could give him the directions he’d asked for. And that was all he’d asked for, she reminded herself. All that Deke Summers had indicated he had any interest in—at least when he was sober.
The road was as winding as she’d promised, and conveniently isolated. There were actually too few houses for his purposes, so Deke decided to let her help him look. It would be easier if they each took a side of the road, especially since his attention was needed for driving, considering the speed he was maintaining over the tight curves.
“We need to find somebody who’s gone on vacation,” he said.
Becki had been thinking about her mother’s reaction to her phone call. Disbelief would be too mild a word for what had been in her voice. It was so out of character for Becki to just take off. She had tried to reassure her mom that nothing was wrong, but she had heard the worry underlying the hesitant admonition to have a good time.
She couldn’t be sure how long it would be before her mother decided to check on things. If she went to the house and found Becki’s purse still there and the lights on…She had been wondering how to break the news to Deke Summers that her vacation story had probably only bought them a couple of days at best before her family put out the alarm.
“What?” she asked, her thoughts forced back to the present. He’d said
something about a vacation.
“We need to find a house where they’ve taken off for a few days and left a car at home.”
“How are we going to know they’ve gone on vacation?”
“Newspapers piling up. Outside lights on in the daytime. Unmowed grass. The signs are there, if you know what to look for. Burglars do it all the time.”
“And car thieves?” she suggested. She could never remember stealing anything in her life, and now she was going to help him steal a car. She believed that was called grand theft auto.
“We’re going to leave one in its place,” he said. “Not really a theft. Just an exchange.”
There was a trace of humor in his assurance. Apparently he knew exactly what she was worrying about, and this was not the first time he’d seemed to know what she was thinking.
“Oh, of course,” she said, allowing a touch of sarcasm, “that makes it all right. And what if they didn’t want to exchange cars with us?”
“Then they should have stayed home and guarded what’s theirs. Everybody knows it’s a cold, cruel world.”
Surprisingly, it was she who found what they were looking for. The signs were all there, from the unmowed lawn to the newspapers yellowing in the summer heat. They had driven by before the evidence registered, but Deke turned the car around in the next side road they came to, more than a mile past the house.
The vehicle parked in the attached carport was an ancient truck, several years older even than the Trans Am they were driving. Becki’s lips lifted involuntarily as she remembered all the jokes about Southern rednecks and their car-strewn yards.
“You might be a redneck…” she said very softly, climbing out of the car. Her remark had not been intended for Deke, and she was surprised when he completed the statement.
“If you’re even thinking about stealing a pickup that’s older than you are,” he said. His eyes were on the battered vehicle and not on her, but he was aware of her surprised laughter. And when he found himself watching her bend over to examine the tread on the rear tires, he again deliberately pulled his eyes away.
“Not too bald,” she said, straightening and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “As long as you don’t try maneuvering between trucks at a hundred miles an hour, it ought to make it.”
“At least it won’t be any trouble to wire,” he agreed. “Too old to have any antitheft features.” He climbed into the cab, but he didn’t shut the door, and she found that she was aware again of the curve of his shoulder and upper arm, the muscles strongly defined under the black cotton. Whatever he was doing underneath the dash, he was managing by feel alone. Suddenly his body shifted, his feet aligning themselves on the pedals as the engine came to life, deep throated and noisy, but as he let it idle, reassuringly steady.
He stepped down out of the truck, leaving it running. He walked to the trunk of the Pontiac and removed a canvas bag which he threw over the tailgate into the back of the truck. He closed the trunk and walked around to the passenger-side door, which she’d left open, and bent to remove something from the glove compartment. When he closed the door and came toward her, he was holding a gun, a big, extremely efficient-looking handgun, and her nightshirt.
“You might like to take this with you,” he said, offering the shirt.
She took the wad of crimson material and watched without comment as he slipped the gun into the pocket of the camouflage pants he was wearing. Hands again free, he pulled the black shirt out of his waistband and then quickly over his head. The white T-shirt he wore beneath lifted slightly with the rise of the outer shirt, revealing a glimpse of flat brown stomach, ridged with muscle and not an ounce of flab. And somewhere inside, Becki again felt the heat of reaction.
Deke folded up the black shirt and stuffed it into the canvas bag he’d thrown into the bed of the truck. When he turned back to face her, he was running his fingers through the disordered blond hair, pushing it away from his forehead.
“I’m going to park the car around back. It may give us a couple of extra days if nobody connects us right away with the truck’s disappearance. You can go ahead and get in.”
When he returned, she was ready to go. She wasn’t prepared, however, for the question he asked as soon as he’d climbed in.
“Where’s Josh?”
“Josh? I told you. He’s with my brothers. Camping.”
“Where?” he asked, beginning to back the pickup out of the driveway.
“I have no idea,” she said truthfully.
The truck’s backward progress stopped, and the blue eyes turned from the rearview mirror to focus intently on her face.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t know where they are. They didn’t…” She stopped, confused by the change in his expression. It was like watching a metamorphosis. The unsmiling stranger who had lived next door to her for three months was back, the ice suddenly returning to the blue eyes that were locked on her face.
“What do you mean you don’t know where they are?” he asked, his voice very calm.
“They just took off. They didn’t want a set itinerary. They just wanted freedom to go wherever…” Still puzzled by whatever had happened to produce the sudden change, her explanation faded and she shook her head. “What does it matter where they are? Wherever they are, I promise you Josh is okay. Mike and Bill aren’t going to let anyone bother Josh.”
“Damn,” he said, his eyes finally releasing hers. He turned to look out the windshield, but she knew that his mind wasn’t on the clutter of the carport he had just backed out of, the only view in that direction. “Damn,” he said again, crossing his wrists over the top of the steering wheel. He put his forehead down on the crossed wrists a moment and then lifted his head to look back through the windshield. She watched his mouth tighten, the movement obvious even in profile.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling fear climb into her throat. She didn’t understand why she was suddenly so afraid. Mike would take care of Josh. She knew that. Nothing could happen to her son while he was with his uncles. Even as she tried to convince herself, she remembered the small army that had invaded her home. If not military, at least pseudomilitary. As macho as Mike believed himself to be, she knew he’d never been confronted by anything like those armed men or the dangers they represented. Then she thought about her bespectacled older brother, Bill, who was noted for his intellect, but definitely not for his combat readiness.
“Deke? What’s wrong?” she asked, but already she knew. He believed they would go after Josh, that they would try to find Josh in order to use him to capture their quarry.
“Tell me everything you do know. Everything they said before they left. Even if you think it’s insignificant.”
She swallowed against the fear crowding her throat so she could obey. “They just decided to take off. To see the West. The parks and tourist sights. Camping out.”
“Just decided?” he asked.
“A couple of days before they left. Or at least that’s when Mike told me. When he asked me if Josh could go.”
“A sudden decision to travel?” he asked. There was something in that question she couldn’t quite read, but she began to explain all the reasons Mike had given her.
“They’ve talked about doing it for years. Something always came up. And then this year, it didn’t. Everything just seemed to…fall into place.”
She watched again the corner of his mouth lift, the movement slight. She wondered how there could be so much difference in that small lift she had seen before, which she had known was a smile, and this reaction. How she could be so certain that the same movement this time didn’t signify amusement?
“And you let him go. Without knowing where they’d be.”
She waited a moment before she answered, feeling as if he were accusing her of something—only she wasn’t sure of what. Josh was her son. Deke Summers had no right to try to make her feel that she’d done something wrong in letting hi
m go.
“He’s with his uncles. Two very dependable men.”
“And you don’t see anything coincidental about the timing of this camping trip?”
“Coincidental?” she repeated.
“With your brothers’ sudden decision to take a trip, given what happened last night.”
It took her a moment to realize what he was suggesting.
“Are you saying there is some connection between my brothers taking the kids camping and those men last night?”
He didn’t answer, but he turned his head to meet her questioning eyes.
“That’s crazy,” she said. “If you’re implying that my brothers had anything to do with what happened last night, you’re out of your mind.”
He didn’t attempt to argue against her anger, but he held her eyes a long time, maybe to read the depth of her conviction.
Finally he turned to look out the rear window and began to back down the driveway. He didn’t speak again until they were on the road, the deserted house behind which he’d parked the Trans Am several miles behind them.
“What attractions?”
“They didn’t say,” she answered, tight-lipped. He believed those men were going to go after Josh. And that scared her, no matter how much she trusted her brothers. But surely, if she couldn’t find Josh, then the men who were following them couldn’t either.
“And in the past? When they talked about the trip before?”
Unconsciously, she shrugged, trying to remember. “The usual places. The Grand Canyon. Yellowstone. Yosemite. The Alamo. I don’t know. They just wanted to go wherever they felt like going. That was the whole point.”
“No provisions for an emergency? No arrangements in case anyone needed to get in touch with them?”
She thought about that. They would call home periodically. Louise, Bill’s wife, would hear from them. And Mary. And they’d call her empty house, the answering machine assuring them that she couldn’t come to the phone right now. Probably they’d wait until they’d been on the road a few days, but eventually they’d call, just to let the waiting mothers know that everything was all right.
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