by Lyn Stone
What he would do about this newest development, Ford couldn’t guess, and that scared him. How far would he go to protect Mary? Could he compromise his own integrity to get her out of this?
Yeah, he needed a little space between them to get his head straight. The only way he could get that would be to take her to Blevins and let him hide her.
Before he could change his mind, he picked up the phone and punched in the number.
“Where are you?” Blevins demanded.
“You really gotta chill out before you get an ulcer,” Ford said, then held the phone away from his ear and let him rant awhile.
When the invective stopped, Ford resumed. “We’re at her grandmother’s house near Franklin, but you won’t need the address. I’m bringing her to you first thing in the morning.”
Blevins argued at that, still demanding their exact location. Ford ignored it.
“Look, boss, this is going nowhere, and security here is the pits. Maybe you can get one of the TBI safe houses and a couple of their guys to baby-sit. Will you free me up for a shot at Perry? He could have those gems.”
Ford didn’t think so, though there was a remote possibility. Somebody had the damned things, but he figured it was the mysterious courier, the one Mary must have phoned to pick them up.
After a long silence, Blevins agreed. “Okay. Keep the woman there tonight while I arrange something. Stay right where you are. And keep that phone turned on. I’ll call you as soon as everything’s set up.”
“Roger,” Ford agreed, and cut the connection. Why, he wondered, were the small hairs on the back of his neck standing straight out?
He clicked on the television and settled back to watch. Peter Jennings barely registered and might as well have been relating the news in Swahili. Ford’s thoughts remained on Mary and the question of his feelings for her.
Now and then he glanced over at her as she reclined on the opposite sofa. What drew him to her, and sparked this almost-obsessive desire he felt? Lust, yes, but it was something far stronger than that.
That made him mad as hell, as much with himself as with her. He was a veteran when it came to seeing through people, not some kid, green off the farm; but he sure couldn’t prove it by his initial assessment of Mary Shaw. She’d really had him going. Even so, he couldn’t stand the thought of caging her up with hardened criminals, no matter what she had done.
He had some decisions to make here—big ones that would affect him for the rest of his life. If he protected her completely, he would have to resign. No way could he do this job, knowing he had suppressed evidence. That would be difficult to live with, no matter what he did afterward.
And of course, he would have to take charge of Mary then, a permanent commitment, so that he could make certain she never broke the law again in any way. He’d be responsible.
Ford couldn’t believe what he was thinking. Maybe he had skirted a few rules in his time. Okay, a lot of rules. But he’d never seriously considered breaking the law. Laws should apply to everybody, even the woman he... what? Needed to protect? Wanted more than air and food? Loved? Could he bring himself to withhold what he knew about Mary—information that would strengthen a case against her—when he wasn’t even certain why he was doing it?
Programs on the TV screen slid past in slow succession. Even when Mary went into the bathroom and back, and later got up and fiddled around in the desk drawers on the other side of the room Ford didn’t pay much attention. Soul-searching took time, and he wasn’t finding what he was looking for.
“Ford?” Mary said, as she came over and sat down on the sofa beside him. “I thought of someone who can corroborate my story.”
“And which story is that?” he asked, his mind still focused on his inner turmoil.
“That I’m not some burglar in disguise. And that I would never get involved in anything as perilous as jewel theft, either as a perpetrator or an accomplice,” she said. “I sort of lost it after Mother’s accident It ended any desire I ever had for taking risks. Would you call my therapist? She can verify how Mother’s death affected me.”
Ford shot her a look of disbelief. “You want me to call your shrink? Are you still seeing her?”
“Not officially, but we still talk now and then.” She laid her hand on his arm and looked directly into his eyes, searching, almost pleading. “Ford, I’m not what you think. I promise I’m not.” With her free hand, she held out a business card. “Call her.”
He beat back the urge to grasp at anything that might indicate Mary was telling the truth. More than anything, he wanted proof that she hadn’t deliberately deceived him and everyone else.
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”
He got up then, dislodging her hand. He felt reluctant to touch her or have her touch him, especially when their emotions were so highly charged. The feeling of her cool palm and fingers against his forearm lingered.
“Stay here,” he instructed, and left the room. He would reconnect the phones. A three-way conversation with this therapist might not settle matters the way Mary thought—the way he hoped—but it could reveal something one way or another.
If nothing else came of it, maybe having the phones working again, and giving Mary private access to one later, might get him the number of her accomplice—provided she had one.
He realized his mind had already latched on to the hope that she didn’t, but he had to know for sure.
Once he had reestablished the phone service from the main connection, Ford brought the portable from the kitchen so that he and Mary could speak to her former doctor concurrently.
After trying the number for the third time and getting no answer, Mary left a message asking her to return the call. Then she sighed deeply and her shoulders slumped with defeat. Her eagerness to call the therapist further encouraged Ford to believe that Mary was telling the truth about how and why she had changed so much.
He felt inclined to try to make her feel better, anyway. “It’s only seven-thirty. Maybe the doctor’s out of town for the weekend and not home yet,” he suggested. “We’ll try again later.”
“If you talk to her and she backs up what I’ve said, do you still mean to take me back to town?” Mary asked.
The loud ring and chirp from two phones startled both of them before he could reply.
Mary fumbled for a moment before she answered, “Yes? Hello?” Her eyes widened as she handed the instrument to Ford. “It’s Mr. Knoblett. He wants you.”
Ford took the call, watching Mary as he listened, hating that her features wore that worried frown. He issued a clipped “Thanks,” then hung up.
“Come on! We’ve got to get out of here.”
“What’s happened?” she asked, scrambling off the sofa.
“Knoblett was down at his store for something. While he was closing up, he noticed car lights turn, headed this way. We’ve got less than five minutes to clear out of here!” Ford announced, picking up her bag and his own. “Grab your jacket.” He shrugged into his own.
“We could hide! Or you could surprise him, maybe catch him!” Mary said.
He knew she wished they could end this business right now and put it behind them. “Not when he’s packing that assault weapon that tore the hell out of Molly’s van! Come on, you’re supposed to show me the back way out of here, through the field and up an old logging trail. You know where it is?”
“Yes,” Mary said as they reached the door and he started to switch off the lights. “Ford, wait! Your phone!”
He backtracked and found it. Then they dashed through the darkness of the hallway and the kitchen.
Ford cursed under his breath while his heart pounded. No chance it could be a neighbor coming this way. Nobody knew Mary was here but Knoblett. This stretch of road didn’t go past any other houses. It dead-ended here at the mansion.
Blevins had no reason to send anyone out, even though he did have the means to discover the exact location if he wanted to. Perry must have dis
covered it, as well. Ford was afraid he knew how. Fury at the betrayal created a bitter taste in his mouth and made his gut churn with the need to retaliate. Later.
They rushed out the back door toward the carriage house and jumped into the Jeep. “That way,” Mary said, pointing as she clicked her seat belt in place.
It was not yet eight o’clock. Dark as pitch with no moon. And colder. Ford drove, barreling across several acres of pastureland Mary had leased to the neighbors. She indicated an almost-invisible break in the tree line. “There. The trail!”
They wheeled past an ancient oak and on into the wooded area, thick with mostly evergreens. Low-hanging limbs whipped the windshield and undergrowth scraped the sides of the Jeep.
“Should we stop and just hide here?” Mary asked, her words coming in huffs. Her teeth clicked as they bounced over holes and fallen limbs.
“Can’t. He’ll check out the house first. That’ll take a while, but he’ll find our tracks across the pasture for sure, soon as the sun comes up. Probably before then. We’ll have to keep going,” Ford said. “Can we get on a secondary road from here?”
“I don’t know!” She yelped when they hit a huge hole, and braced her hands against the dash. “I remember two trails leading away from the old logging camp. One goes to a small cabin about eight or ten miles away. Gramps leased it to hunters when he wasn’t using it himself. That trail stops there. I don’t know where the other one goes. Maybe to another road.”
“Anybody else know about the cabin?”
She thought for a minute. “Mr. Knoblett. Maybe Mr. Cranston. He’s the only close neighbor. The hunters Gramps rented it to know where it is. I don’t think we should risk going there. I mean, the path leads right to it.”
“There has to be another way out of these woods,” Ford said. “I can’t imagine those logging trucks tooling past the big house. We’ll try the other road.”
Mary’s head hurt. Her heart ached, too, when she thought of that criminal who was probably ransacking Gran’s house right now. First those agents going through her father’s house, and now this guy violating the old family home. Nothing would be untouched when all this was finally over. Least of all, her.
They bumped on at a slower pace. The logging camp proved to be nothing more than a weed-choked clearing with a couple of tumbledown buildings. The place looked so much smaller than it had the few times she had been here with Gramps. Years had passed since then—thirteen or fourteen, at least. The logging had been in operation more recently than that, but not by much, considering the rusted state of the abandoned equipment.
A deep stream cut through the woods, off to the right, she remembered, and followed the trail to the cabin. She had no idea when the hunters had used the old cabin last. No one had contacted her about leasing it this year since Gran had died. Too risky to go there, anyway.
“Turn there!” Mary said, pointing to the other barely discernible path through the tall loblolly pines. Ford plowed right through the brush. If Perry did follow, he would have no trouble deciding which way they had gone.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged onto another road, crudely paved and unlined. Ford let the engine idle as he looked both ways. “Where are we?”
Mary pointed left. “That probably comes out somewhere near the interstate.” Ford wheeled right and picked up speed.
“Wait, you’re going the wrong way!” Mary said, turning to look behind them. “I’m sure that’s east.”
“I love a woman with a good sense of direction,” he commented with a chuckle. “But your thinking’s way too predictable.”
“I think this must be one of the roads that crosses at Knoblett’s store,” she warned him. “We could meet the guy head-on if he didn’t chase us through the woods!”
Ford glanced over at her, his smile wide. “Life’s just full of little gambles.”
Chapter 10
“Fish out the phone,” Ford ordered. “Call Knoblett. Ask him if he can get us some supplies for camping. A tent and sleeping bags, if he’s got any.”
The idea of camping held no appeal, especially with the cold front that had been moving in all day. After several days of unseasonably warm weather, the temperature had dropped to near freezing since early morning, and it felt like snow. But Mary had to trust that Ford knew what he was doing, here. Surely he only meant to have these things for emergency purposes.
What in the world would Mr. Knoblett be doing with camping stuff? she wondered as she got a positive response for the things Ford wanted.
With the line still open, she repeated what Mr. Knoblett said to Ford. “We’re to go to his house and take whatever we need. He’s going to stay there at the store and see if that car comes back by.”
Ford nodded. “Give him the phone number and tell him to buzz us if that happens.” He snapped out the number, and added quickly, before she could resume her conversation, “By the way, tell him which way we turned out of the woods and find out where the hell we are in relation to his place.”
Mary bit back a smile as she repeated what Ford had said into the phone. A man, asking for directions? Then the thought occurred to her that he hadn’t asked at all. He had made her do it for him. Maybe he was a little closer to normal than she’d figured.
Several side roads later, Mary motioned him into a driveway in front of the Knobletts’ small frame house.
They went inside together through the unlocked back door. Later, armed with a meager amount of food, two down sleeping bags and a small dome tent, they returned to the Jeep.
Ford backtracked when they got back on the highway and headed toward the interstate.
He had just passed the narrow trail where they had exited the woods earlier when Mary noticed the Jeep’s motor skip several times. Ford let off the accelerator and veered straight down the steep shoulder. They rolled through the trees for several hundred yards and bumped to a stop in a depression where the ground about them was thick with high weeds and littered with deadfall.
“Why did you do this? Don’t you know we’re miles from the interstate?” Mary asked urgently when he opened his door.
“Jeep’s cutting out. We can’t risk getting caught out in the open. You remember last time we stopped on the side of the road?”
“Could be the alternator,” she muttered.
“Don’t tell me—you were a mechanic in another life.”
“I know a little about cars!” she declared, insulted by his condescension.
He gave a half laugh. “Can you fix it?”
“No,” she admitted. “Can you?”
“No,” he replied with a pained sigh.
“I would have thought that you, of all people would—”
“Know all about hot cars and fast women, being the blue-collar bad boy that I was? Hon, I rode a rusty bicycle until I was eighteen. Then Uncle Sam provided transportation. Where he sent me, wheels usually weren’t necessary. When they were, I always managed to find some that worked.”
“Oh. I just thought, since you fixed the van’s muffler—”
“It came loose. I put it back. Looks like we’ve got a lot to learn about each other. I hope we’ll have time to do that.”
“But if we leave the Jeep, where will we go?” she asked.
“We’ll go back in on foot, to your granddaddy’s hunting cabin.”
“If we can find it,” she muttered. She could hardly recall what it looked like, much less where it was.
“We’ll follow the road back in, but not until our boy gets through with it. A motel wouldn’t have been safe anyway. I had planned for us to camp in some remote site. Perry might not have the resources to find out if we took a room somewhere, but whoever hired him to find us just might.”
“You figured out who that is?” she asked.
“We’ll kick that around later. Hold this.” He had handed her the flashlight and stacked all their gear out of the way. Now he was busy piling dead branches around and on top of the vehicle as they talked.
&n
bsp; “We really shouldn’t go to the cabin,” she insisted, hardly believing Ford would risk going there after what she had told him about it. Granted, it was a good twelve miles from the main house, but even that was too close. “That’s just dumb, Ford.”
“Then he won’t expect us to do it. Don’t worry. He’ll follow our trail out of the woods and assume we’ve gone on.”
She could hear the cocky smile in his voice and, as usual, it made her want to smack him. Instead, she grumbled. “Yes, and he’ll come back tomorrow, follow our trail into the woods and find us!”
Ford handed her their bags, loaded the camping gear on his back, and motioned her toward the paved two-lane. “Trust me, he won’t,” Ford assured her. “At least not until I’m good and ready for him to.”
Mary kept the beam from the flashlight low and watched him walk backward, combing up the flattened weeds with his fingers, arranging them so that they looked much as they had before the Jeep had flattened them in its wake.
When they had crossed the road, she shone the light back again and saw no evidence of where they had left the highway. He gently took the light from her and switched it off.
Ford seemed to know his business when it came to concealing trails, Mary thought. But she questioned the wisdom of his decision to stay in an area where they had already been discovered once. Unpredictability was one thing; tempting fate was quite another.
His impulse to do just that frightened her more than anything else about him. She had suffered the vagaries of fate once too often. The dichotomy puzzled her. Ford’s presence made her feel safer than anyone else’s had ever done, and yet she dreaded his every move, fearing it would cause a catastrophe. He always seemed to take the path of most resistance, to do the unexpected. In this instance, she had to trust that he knew the criminal mind better than she.
“It’s getting colder,” Mary informed him, as though he wouldn’t have noticed. She felt an intermittent spitting of ice on her cheeks and hands. “Feels like snow.”
“Yeah, we can always hope,” Ford said. “But I’m afraid it might be worse.”