by Misha Crews
"Bananas?" Blake ventured.
"Bacon," he replied. "A nice plate of crispy bacon, with maybe a few eggs on the side. And toast with butter. That would really liven things up."
"I'll say. Especially the emergency trip to the cardiologists afterwards," she smiled. "Actually, you're reading my mind." She told him about the breakfast she had been wishing for.
"Spinach and shallots, huh?" he asked, chewing thoughtfully. "Throw some sausage in there and it might not taste half bad."
He caught her disdainful look and grinned. "What?" he teased. "Man cannot live on egg whites alone, you know."
After breakfast, the dishes were quickly cleared away and Caleb poured them a second cup of coffee. He set both mugs on the table, then hesitated before sitting down. "I want to show you something," he said.
Blake opened her mouth to ask him what it was, but he was in and out of the bedroom before she had a chance to speak. In his hand was a medium-sized object. Blake's spine stiffened when she saw that it was a gun in a holster.
He pulled it out and held it up for her inspection. Muzzle up, finger off the trigger.
"Glock nine-millimeter," Blake said grimly. "Is that Rube's?"
"No, it's mine." He laid the weapon flat on the table. If he was surprised that she was able to identify it, he gave no sign. "Does Rube have one like this?"
Blake nodded. "He has a gun safe in his bedroom. Maybe I should've brought one of them up here, I don't know…." She picked the gun up and checked to see if it was loaded. It had a full cartridge and a round in the chamber. She set it back down. "He used to take me to the gun range sometimes. It wasn't really my idea of a fun afternoon, but he felt strongly about keeping weapons in the house, and if we were going to have them he figured I should know how to use them. I agreed."
"I wanted you to know it was here, and I wanted to show you how to handle it, if you didn't know already." He smiled. "I guess Rube beat me to it."
Blake caught his smile and returned it. "I don't really like guns," she said gamely. "They're loud and smelly and oily, and loading those cartridges can do a number on your manicure. Plus, you know, there's the whole potential death thing that can be a bit of a downer."
"Well, if you're in a situation that requires a gun, it's better for the other guy to get dead than you." Caleb's tone was light, but his eyes were serious. "Think you're up to doing some target shooting today? It might be good for you to feel fresh about hitting a bull's-eye."
She put out a finger and lightly traced the contours of the weapon, feeling the crosshatching on the handle. "Do you really think it's going to come to this?" she asked quietly. Even after everything that had happened, she couldn't quite believe it.
Caleb hesitated, looking as if he was considering several possible answers. Finally, he just said, "I hope not," and took her hand.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel brought them both to their feet.
"Is someone here?" Blake's voice came out in a whisper.
"Sounds like it." He looked over at her, calming her with his eyes. "Any idea who that might be?" he asked. "Milkman, postman, neighbor?"
She shook her head. "Everything on this part of the lake is closed down. Nobody has a reason to be up here."
Caleb fastened the holster to his belt. He picked up the gun and checked it as Blake had a moment ago, then held it at his side, finger off the trigger. "Stay here," he said tersely. He let himself out the back door and stalked off around the tree-side of the house.
Blake paced back and forth for a moment, then threw up her hands. "Hell with this," she muttered. She crept through the house to the front window, standing to the side and peeking through the curtains the way she had seen people do in the movies. She moved her head, trying to see who was coming up the short drive.
The front end of a car appeared. It was a sedan, burgundy and newish-looking. It had a California license plate, but apart from that Blake couldn't see anything that would identify it as belonging to a friend or a foe.
As Blake watched, the passenger door swung open, and a woman got out. She was on the small side and had short, dark-blond hair. She wore a yellow sweater that stirred dim memories of childhood.
"Mom?" Blake said in surprise.
The woman stopped as if she'd heard, then she bent down and scooped up a familiar, rough-coated terrier who had followed her out of the car. The woman and said something to a tall man with a mustache who exited the other side of the car. It was Dad.
At the sight of her parents, joy exploded inside Blake. She tore open the front door of the cabin and leapt outside. "Mom! Dad!"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caleb emerge from the bushes to stop her. He was bent low, coming at her like a linebacker on an intercept course. Laughing, she dodged around him, and bounded down the front path.
Not caring about how many years it had been since they'd spoken, not worrying about whether or not it would be well received, Blake wrapped her mother in a fierce hug, nearly squashing the Toto look-alike that Elaine still held in her arms. The two women pulled apart, and she looked down into her mother's wide blue eyes that mirrored her own.
Elaine Sera appeared taken aback at the enthusiastic greeting. Then joy overtook surprise. She allowed the dog to escape from her grip, and she pulled her daughter into her arms.
When they moved apart again, Blake turned to her father and embraced him before looking around for Caleb. He stood a few feet away, watching their reunion. His eyes were tender, but his mouth was a hard, angry line. Suddenly Blake realized that when Caleb had seen her run out the front door, he'd thought she was running into a trap. He thought she would be killed, right in front of him, just like that girl he'd gone to high school with, and she cursed herself for so cavalierly tossing good sense to the wind.
She held out a hand to him, and he took it reluctantly. "It's all right. I'm okay, okay?" she said softly.
He came close to her. He looked like he had a lot to say, but all that came out of his mouth was a quiet, "Don't do that again."
She nodded gently, then faced her parents. "Mom, Dad," she said tremulously, "this is Caleb."
"So, start at the beginning, and explain this to me one more time," Elaine said brusquely. "I want to make sure I really understand what's going on here."
Blake sighed, and rubbed Sampson behind the ears. The little dog was panting happily on her lap, having just devoured one of the treats that Elaine had brought with her in a Ziploc. The five of them were sitting at the kitchen table. Coffee and cookies had been laid out, introductions had been made, brief explanations had been given. The initial elation of their reunion had given way to an awkwardness that was just on its way to being dispelled. And now Mom was sounding like a school principal again.
The exasperated quality of Blake's sigh wasn't lost on Elaine. She smiled sharply and spoke with the rigid self-assurance of one who is not used to being argued with. "Come on, for those of us in the Alzheimer's club, give me all the dirty details one more time."
"Before we do," Caleb said easily, "why don't you tell us what brought you up here?"
Blake nodded in agreement, thankful that Caleb was on her side.
It was Blake's father, William, who fielded that question. "We got a call that you were in trouble," he said simply.
Blake shared a careful look with Caleb before speaking. "From who?"
"He said his name was Greg, and that he works with your – your – "
"He works with Rube Jeffries," Caleb supplied.
"Right." William's pursed lips conveyed his opinion of Rube.
"The man who called you is Greg Betch," Blake said. "He's Rube's assistant."
"Well, he sounded worried about you," her mother said. "He told us that you were in trouble, and asked if we knew where you were."
"What did you tell him?"
"Well, nothing, of course. But after we got off the phone we realized that if you were anywhere that his people couldn't find you, it would probably be h
ere." Elaine reached a hand forward. "So you've finally run away from that man. I'm so glad."
The old resentment surged forward and Blake pulled her hand away. Sampson delicately sniffed her fingers. "You never did like Rube."
"With just cause, evidently." Elaine picked up her coffee cup. "That man is a criminal. I knew it from the first moment I laid eyes on him. I've seen his kind in my office a thousand times."
Blake couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice. "Oh really? You've seen forty year old men, who started with nothing and became self-made, multi-millionaires in your office? Boy, high school sure has changed since I was a kid."
"You never finished high school, so you're not really qualified to make that statement." Elaine tossed out the criticism and then went on as if nothing had happened. "You know perfectly well what I mean. I'm talking about people who think that the only way to get ahead in life is to shortcut the law. If they'd put as much energy into legitimate success as they put into being criminals – "
"All right, Elaine," William said mildly. "We've been over this ground before. Blake doesn't need to hear this again."
"No, I don't," Blake's voice was low. "I know Rube is – well, I know he's made some bad choices with his life." Even now she couldn't bring herself to criticize him. "I'm not going to try to defend everything he's done, especially after everything that's happened. All I'm saying – all I've ever tried to say – is that he may not have trod the conventional path, but he always treated me well. And that has to count in his favor, at least a little bit."
Elaine stared at her daughter, her piercing eyes sizing Blake up, as if determining what notations would go on her permanent record. Suddenly the corners of her mouth turned sharply upward. "Children never stop surprising you," she said irrelevantly. "I mean, you've always had spine, you've always been willing to say what's on your mind. And now you're obviously becoming the woman I always knew you could be."
It was a backhanded compliment, that was for sure. Blake returned her mother's gaze, turning Elaine's words over in her mind, examining them for hidden meanings. She considered possible responses and further questions, but it had taken them a long time to get this close to making peace, and she couldn't help but realize that this was not the time to press the issue. The men were silent, having the good sense to keep out it. Finally, Blake smiled tearfully. "Thanks," she said. And that was all.
Her father reached over and touched her hand, then turned to Caleb and changed the subject. "So where do you come into all of this?"
Caleb shifted, and Blake could see that he was mentally wording his response, trying to come up with something other than, I've been boning your daughter, and when she went on the run I decided to come along for the ride…so to speak. Finally he said, "Well, Blake and I have been seeing each other – "
"For how long?" Elaine asked.
"A little while," Caleb said easily. His relaxed, secure attitude gave no reason for argument. "When she realized she was in trouble, I didn't think she should be alone, so I came along."
William eyed Caleb's firearm, which was holstered in plain site on his hip. "You have a license to carry that thing, young man?"
"Yes, sir, I do," Caleb replied.
"Were you in the service?"
"Yes, sir, I was. Army Special Forces."
"No kidding," William said amicably. His protective paternal manner gave way to a broad, dry grin. "I was an infantryman, myself. Where did you serve?"
"Oh Lord," Elaine said. "If you two start talking military service, we'll never hear the end of it. Come on, Caleb, why don't you help me bring the luggage in from the car, and then maybe we can get lunch started. You and Bill can talk later."
"Luggage?" Blake forestalled Caleb's response. She set Sampson on the floor and leaned forward. "Mom, you're not thinking of staying here?"
"Well, of course we are. You're our daughter. If you need help, we're the ones to give it." Sensing an argument in the offing, Elaine settled back and crossed her legs, prepared to do battle if necessary.
Blake appealed to her father. "Dad, there's no way I'm letting you stay. You'll be perfectly safe at home, and I'll be fine here. I know how to defend myself, and besides Caleb's here…."
But William was no help. "Don't even try it," he said. "Don't you realize that there's not a snowball's chance in hell you're going to get us to leave? You have Caleb to help you, fine. But now you also have us. And there's no getting out of it."
Frustrated, Blake turned to Caleb. But she could see from his face that he wasn't going to be of any assistance in this particular case. I'm not getting in the middle of this one, she could almost hear him say. If your parents want to stay and lend support, that's their call.
Blake sat back, outrun before she'd even left the gate.
"Well, that's settled," Elaine said briskly. She gave Caleb a stern-eyed but twinkling glance. "Let's go get those bags, Caleb. You and I need some alone time so I can rake you over the coals a little. Now that I've got my daughter back, I'm not going to give her up to just anybody."
Conversation over lunch was all about catching up. Blake was filled in on the news about some of her old friends: who had gotten married (told mildly) and who had gotten divorced (told with relish). Of course she also got the rundown on who had had babies. This last was disclosed with a speculative glance toward Caleb, who didn't seem to mind.
When lunch was over, Elaine once again recruited Caleb to help with the clean-up. Blake invited her father to a game of chess and he accepted, with little outward sentiment but much inward feeling, as was his way. They set up the board on the coffee table in the living room and played quietly, with the fire going and the radio on low. Blake lounged contentedly on the old rug that she had so recently scorned to think of, while her father sat on the ancient polyester sofa. Sampson had settled himself comfortably on the hearth and he watched their game with mild interest. Every now and then, they could hear Elaine laughing in the kitchen.
"I haven't heard your mother laugh like that in ages," William said, peering over his glasses at Blake.
"I've never heard her laugh like that. I think you may have some competition, Dad."
William smiled a small smile as he moved his bishop. "By the way," he said, "don't let Elaine fool you. She has every one of your magazine pictures, every article that was printed about you. They're all in an album. She brags about you to anyone who'll listen."
Wonders never cease. It was all Blake could do not to burst into tears.
Afternoon gave way to evening. They had a light supper, and before they knew it, their eyes were closing and it was time for bed. Sleeping arrangements were made quickly and with a minimum of discussion. Elaine and William took the "grown-ups' room," where Blake had decided not to sleep with Caleb the night before. Blake returned to her bed and Caleb said he would take the couch.
"It'll be better this way," he murmured to Blake as he grabbed an extra pillow from her closet. "I'll be more on alert out there, and besides, I don't know if I would feel comfortable sharing a bedroom with you while your parents are in the house!"
"Old-fashioned cowboy," she whispered fondly.
"You better believe it." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Sleep tight. And don't worry. Nobody knows we're here."
But he was wrong about that.
Chapter Nineteen
Outside in the darkness, two figures crouched low in the bushes beside the road, their patience wearing thin. They had been in position since the sun had gone down, waiting for the final light to be extinguished inside the cottage. Anticipation mounted as the last window went dark, but still they did not stir. They were professionals, after all, and they knew their business. An hour after the last light had been turned off – just long enough, they figured, for everyone to be asleep – they made their move.
Across the road, into the shadow of the little house, traveling swiftly, silently. Two men, dressed in black. One was tall, and one was short. They circled the structure and surveille
d the inhabitants from the slivered openings in the curtains.
On the sofa in the living room, a man slept. Uncovered, arms crossed, he looked like he had just dozed off. In the larger of the bedrooms, the old couple was asleep, each facing an opposite wall, the soles of their feet touching under the covers. A small dog slept soundly in a basket on the floor, nose tucked under its stub of a tail. At the sight of the animal, the taller man touched the shorter one on the arm. Would the dog be a problem?
But the short one shook his head slightly. Worst case scenario, the dog was a noisemaker who would have to be silenced, and they had the equipment for that. But if all went to plan, they would be in and out in a matter of minutes. The old boy probably wouldn't even wake up.
It was in the smaller bedroom that they found what they'd come for. A woman slept in one of the beds, her long blond hair spilling over the pillow. The two men stood at the window, watching her sleep. Their eyes met, and each knew the other shared their thoughts. This was a beautiful woman. They could have a lot of fun with her, if time permitted.
But time did not permit right now. Their instructions were simple but inflexible – get the woman out of the house. No one was to be hurt. If necessary, single shots to the feet or kneecaps could be used.
The men in black preferred to leave everyone asleep. If they could get this girl out of the house without waking a single soul, it would be a real feather in their caps. And in their business, a job that goes smoothly is an invitation to more jobs. Word gets around.
The window latch was loose and easily displaced, the sash was raised with the utmost care. Once inside the house, they moved discreetly and with purpose.
The two of them had their system down pat. The taller man stood by the woman's feet, ready to grab and bind them as soon as she woke. The shorter man stood by the pillow. He would gag her, then secure her hands. The taller man would tie her feet, then they would wrap her in the bedspread and take her out the window. A van was waiting down the road. In twenty minutes they would be miles away, and no one the wiser.