Annie shook her head. “I heard from friends that when Aaron was a sophomore in high school—frankly, it was amazing he didn’t flunk out of school what with Ginger moving him every couple of months—she left him with her great-aunt in Los Angeles. Glendale, I believe. She was supposed to come back for him in two months—she told everyone she had a job on a cruise ship—but she never returned. Not surprising. She never showed up when she promised she would his entire life.”
“You never knew what happened to her?”
Annie shook her head slowly. “I thought she’d either just forgot about him completely, or hooked up with some other guy who didn’t want kids. I had Aaron for eight months while she shacked up with a sugar daddy in Florida. The bastard didn’t like kids, so she never told him about Aaron. Aaron was seven then, and that was the only stable year of his entire life. Then you know what she did? She showed up one morning two weeks before the end of the school year and just took him. The relationship didn’t work out and she wanted to spend time with Aaron. Then I heard from my mom that she left him with her mother not a week later.” Annie’s voice cracked. Every time she thought about Aaron or Ginger she became upset.
“So you can see why the judge was wrong to give that poor boy the death penalty. I never doubted he did what they said he did—there was evidence, I know—but I wish the system could see that he was just a wounded little boy.”
Agent Peterson was taking notes, his face solemn and nonjudgmental. Annie liked him.
“And you never heard from Aaron after his mother took him when he was thirteen?”
“Well, I visited him in prison after his arrest for killing poor Rebecca Oliver.” She sighed. “I ache over that. If only I’d had the money to fight Ginger for custody. But—it wasn’t just money, I suppose. What claim did I have to him? Why didn’t the schools do something? His grandparents? His father?”
“Do you know Joanna Sutton?”
“The romance writer?” Annie glanced down again. “He asked me if I would bring him her books. He’d read one in the prison library and wanted more. They were wonderful family romances. I thought he could learn what love was really about, that his mother wasn’t typical and, in fact, was abnormal.”
“Did you know that Aaron was writing her letters?”
“I—” She swallowed uneasily.
“Did you send letters for him? Receive letters?”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, ma’am.”
Annie bit her bottom lip and played with her coffee cup. “I know I broke the rules—but just that one time. When he asked me to send a second letter, I read it first and never mailed it. I realized what he was doing.”
“And what was that?”
“He was turning her into another Rebecca Oliver. He had this idea that the actress was in love with him. He wrote me letters, at least twice a month, telling me about their dates, what she said to him, how much he loved her. I had no idea it was all in his head. And then he started writing that he and Joanna Sutton were pen pals, that she was helping him write a book, and the prison gave them special permission to be together.
“I didn’t believe it, not after reading the second letter he asked me to send, but I didn’t want to hurt him so I played along with his fantasy. I mean, he was in prison. Who could he hurt? Why are you asking me about her? He didn’t—oh my God, he didn’t hurt her since the escape?” Annie felt ill.
“Not yet, Ms. Erickson, but whatever information you have about Aaron’s feelings toward Ms. Sutton would help us determine what his next move might be.”
Annie swallowed a sob. She pictured young Aaron, big blue eyes looking out the window for a mother who never arrived on time. Young Aaron making sure he was clean, his clothes pressed, his hair combed all the time, just in case his mother showed up that day. Ginger didn’t like dirty little boys…
“It’s my fault.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Sutton responded to his first letter. I didn’t send it from the prison, but instead put my return address on the envelope. I was going to bring it to him, but after reading the second letter, I decided against it.”
“When was this?”
“Two years ago.”
“Do you remember anything about the letters?”
“I still have them.”
Stan went upstairs to change the towels in the guest rooms. He found it odd that in John Miller’s room he saw several of Jo’s books on the desk. He crossed over and immediately noticed that three had a library’s Dewey decimal code and the letter S for “Sutton” taped to each spine. Did he buy them at a library fund-raiser? Maybe. They all looked well read.
He opened one of them and saw underlined passages. Who on earth marked text in romance novels?
What did they really know about John Miller? He hailed from L.A. and had made his reservation a week ago, out of the blue. He hadn’t been referred by anyone. He said he needed time to think, which wasn’t surprising to Stan. But he didn’t seem the type to cotton to thinking time. And he had attached himself to Jo readily enough.
You sent this fellow with Jo.
Had Stan made a mistake?
He went through John’s room. There was nothing personal in it except for the clothes he’d worn yesterday. He’d worn Stan’s clothes today, including a snowsuit. The only thing he’d brought with him from his truck were romance novels? Jo’s romance novels?
Stan noticed a piece of paper folded and tucked into one of the books. He picked up the book, extracted the paper and carefully unfolded it. If his fears were unfounded, Stan wanted to be able to put the paper back as it was.
He stared at a photograph of John Miller. A mug shot, complete with the height marker behind him. It was a fax—and the header read Beaverhead County Sheriff’s Department, Dillon, Montana.
Sheriff McBride had faxed over the mug shots of three convicts, not two.
John Miller, aka Aaron Doherty, had stolen his own.
Stan had to warn Jo.
She was in the middle of nowhere with a killer.
Jo was pleased with their progress: They made it to the Kimball homestead in just over an hour. They’d been moving at fifteen miles an hour most of the time except for two delays. On their return, they wouldn’t be able to go that fast hauling Ben Ward safely, or with the scouts sitting double on the snowmobiles. She was a little concerned about fuel—the added weight would drain their gasoline much faster, but as long as they rode steady and stayed on the main trail they’d make it. She had a two-gallon backup tank that she could tap into and siphon off if necessary.
Wyatt stood outside the cabin as Jo approached. “Heard you coming way back.”
“Snowmobiles aren’t built for stealth.”
Wyatt glanced at the three men disembarking from the other sleds. Jo explained, “I don’t like the weather right now. I’m thinking we should get you all back to the lodge quickly, rather than letting anyone ski in.”
Wyatt held up his hand to stop Jo’s explanation. “I spoke with Karl an hour ago. He told me you were coming with help. I should have thought of it myself.”
Jo said, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to take your equipment. We’re already doubling up some of the kids. Why don’t you figure out how best to distribute everyone? It’ll be slow going, but we’ll all be back safe in less than two hours.”
“Sounds like a good plan. I can come back for our stuff tomorrow or the next day.”
She pulled out an insulated box from the straps on the back of her sled. “Stan sent some sustenance.”
“Great.”
Jo introduced Wyatt to the three men. “John Miller, from Los Angeles, and Craig and Sean Mann from Seattle. The Manns have been to the lodge before.”
Wyatt shook their gloved hands, motioned them inside.
The Kimball homestead was simply an abandoned log cabin that had withstood harsh winters for more than fifty years, largely due to the craggy cliff to the north which protected it from the worst of the wind.
Holes had been repaired, the roof replaced a couple summers back by Wyatt’s former scout troop, and the land had been used for winter survival scout events for as long as Jo could remember.
The roof and the walls did little to stop the cold, and the inside was not much warmer than the ten degrees it was outdoors, though a fire burned in the river rock fireplace.
Jo started unpacking the sandwiches and hot chocolate for the boys, coffee for her and the men. She saw Jason sitting next to the injured Ben, who was up against the wall, close enough to the fire so the warmth did him good.
Jason looked so much like his father that for a moment, her heart skipped a beat.
She approached and squatted next to the boys, handing them cups of hot chocolate. “Hi, Jason.”
“Hi, Jo.” He didn’t look at her; just stared at his cup. She didn’t know what exactly he knew about her relationship with his father. She hadn’t talked to him since she’d turned down Tyler’s marriage proposal.
The last person she wanted to hurt was a boy still grieving over the death of his mother. She had no right to have insinuated herself into the McBride family. Why hadn’t she thought about Jason more when she first started seeing Tyler?
Because she hadn’t wanted to think about Jason. Thinking about Jason inevitably made her remember Timmy.
Timmy would have been thirteen, a year older than Jason.
She realized how callous she’d been toward Tyler’s son, as if he weren’t an important part of who Tyler was. Or maybe—maybe subconsciously Jason was more important to her, and more important in her rejection of Tyler, than she’d realized.
She squeezed his arm and made him look at her. “Keeping watch over our patient?”
He shrugged, sipped the hot chocolate. “It’s my fault.”
Ben shook his head. “It’s not.”
“It was.” He said it so emphatically that she knew nothing Ben—or Jo—could say would change his mind.
Ben piped up. “We were climbing the rocks over at that trail that leads to Red Rock Pass. My foot went in between two boulders and just snapped.”
“It was an accident,” Jo said.
“He was my partner,” Jason mumbled. “And it was my idea to climb the rocks.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was supposed to be looking out for him.”
“You are supposed to look out for each other. It was an accident. If he hadn’t stepped in the wrong hole in the wrong way, it wouldn’t have happened.” Jo wanted to hug Jason, but suspected he’d be embarrassed. And the thought of holding a boy…any boy…made her throat constrict.
The last boy she’d held was her dying son before he went in for surgery.
“The pressure on his brain is so strong that he’ll die in less than twenty-four hours if we don’t relieve it.” The doctor, a squarish man with wire-rimmed glasses, had looked at her as if somehow this was all her fault.
Or maybe that was her, looking in a mirror.
“Then do it!” she demanded.
“I don’t think he’ll survive the surgery.”
What?
She hadn’t spoken the question, but it vibrated in her head. What did he mean, Timmy wouldn’t survive the surgery?
The doctor stared at her, and when she didn’t speak, he said, “Timmy will die without surgery. The extent of the internal bleeding is so great that without surgery to stop it, he can’t survive. But because of where the bleeding is, and the extensive contusion inside his skull, I don’t think we can stop it and repair the damage in time.”
“What are his chances?” she asked in a voice so low she might as well not have spoken at all.
“Most optimistically, twenty percent.”
“Twenty percent? That he’ll die?”
“That he’ll live.”
Because time was crucial, Jo held Timmy while the nurses prepared him for surgery. He looked like he was asleep, his face calm, but his skin was too pale, his cheeks too hollow.
“It’s time.”
Time. She’d only had minutes. Nine years, one month, ten days, and minutes…
In the cabin, Jo turned to Ben, gave him a smile, blinking away the threatening tears. “You holding up okay?”
Ben sighed dramatically. “Mr. McBride won’t let me do anything. I’ve just had to sit here and do nothing.”
“How does your leg feel?”
He shrugged. “It hurts if I move, but it’s kind of numb now. And Mr. McBride put on a splint.”
“I see that. He did a great job. You know you get a free ride back to my place.”
“I’d rather drive the snowmobile myself.”
Jo laughed. “I’ll bet. It won’t be long. Next season.”
“That doesn’t help.”
Jo handed them both sandwiches. “Eat up, we have about a two-hour trek ahead of us and we need to get going pretty quick. I’m going to talk to Wyatt and start moving things along.”
Jason shrugged, bit into his sandwich.
Jo didn’t push it, relieved when she walked away to talk to Wyatt. He wasn’t in the cabin. “Where’d Wyatt go?” she asked Craig Mann.
“He’s using the radio.”
He could have done it inside—unless he didn’t want the boys to overhear.
She went outside. The wind had started to whip up, sending small flurries of snow to and fro like a vigorously shaken snow globe. Damn, it had come on suddenly. She saw Wyatt next to the snowmobiles and walked over.
He was on the radio. He stared at Jo and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The weather is getting nasty. We have to get going now.”
“I agree. Who are you talking to?”
“Tyler. Here, you give him the ETA and I’ll get the boys ready. You’re going to pull Ben on your sled, Craig Mann and his son can take Kevin, he’s the smallest, and Miller and I will each take take two boys.”
She nodded and took the radio from Wyatt. “Tyler?”
“Jo. You made it safely.”
“Did you doubt me?”
She tried to make light of it, but Tyler’s voice was grave.
“The prisoners stole two of Nash’s snowmobiles. We’re nearly to Lakeview right now and Nash will lead us around the avalanche. Fallen trees and boulders are blocking the road, so we need to make about a quarter-mile detour around, but we’ll make it.”
“The wind is picking up, throwing the powder around.”
“The NWS is predicting another ten inches overnight, starting by five.”
“We’ll be back long before then.”
“Be careful, Jo. With snowmobiles, the killers could be at the lodge already. Did you know your phone is out?”
“Our phone?”
“Yes. I talked to your grandfather over the radio.”
“Must be something with the box outside the house. I can check it when I get back.” She didn’t want to be scared just because a wire got knocked loose in the storm—it happened on occasion—but she couldn’t help but wonder if it really was an accident.
“There are seven cabins on your property, right?”
“Yes. And there are a couple vacation homes between Lakeview and the lodge as well, but they’re not on the road. I don’t think they’d be easily found, unless you knew they were there.”
“We’ll check those later. I want to get everyone into the lodge. It’ll be much easier to keep people safe under one roof.”
Jo almost hit herself. “We have two cabins occupied. I didn’t think there was an immediate danger, not one that would warrant moving them.”
“Who are they?”
“Greg and Vicky Trotsky are newlyweds. Greg worked at the refuge one summer. And two college kids working on a big project in the second cabin.”
“I’m going to radio your grandfather and ask him to move them to the lodge before the weather gets worse. I can’t protect people if they’re spread all over.”
Wyatt came out with John and Craig, giving i
nstructions.
“We need to get going,” she said glancing at her watch. Ten-thirty a.m. “We should be back by one. I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you, Jo.”
Click.
He’d hung up. She stared at the radio, in shock more than anything else. Her throat thickened. He still loved her? After she turned down his proposal? After she told him that she still felt married?
You slept with him, but you can’t marry him? What’s with you, Jo!
She glanced at the cabin and immediately thought about Jason, and knew then that it wasn’t Tyler she was scared to commit to.
“Joanna!” John waved to her, trying to get her attention. She put up her finger in a “just-a-minute” gesture and went back into the cabin to help organize the boys. They had stored the equipment they couldn’t take in the corner. Wyatt had all the food in his pack—they couldn’t leave that for grizzlies or wolves to hunt down. She made sure the boys were dressed properly and sent them out one at a time.
Jason and Ben were the last. “Is he really going to be okay?” Jason asked, eyes cast down.
“Yes,” Jo said. “Your uncle knows what he’s doing. The splint is solid and you’ve kept him off his leg. We’ll get him to the lodge and Stan—he was a medic in the army—he’ll give him a once-over. Nash will come in from Lakeview and patch him up.”
Jason’s eyes shot up in surprise. “Dr. Nash is a veterinarian!”
Jo laughed, rested her hand on Jason’s arm. “He’s been known to work on people. He delivered my son…” Her voice trailed off and her face froze. She rarely thought about the day Timmy was born. She expected the pain to hit her, physically, in the heart. Instead, a dull throb spread throughout her body, a quiet angst, but not debilitating. She didn’t cry.
Jason whispered, “Are you okay?”
She nodded. And meant it.
Wyatt came in and said, “The boys are ready. Help me bring Ben out?”
“Jason, want to grab Ben’s stuff and follow?” Jo asked.
Jason followed as she and Wyatt carried the injured boy outside and strapped him into the sleigh. “It’s cold now,” Jo told him, “but there’s a built-in heater. You’ll be toasty in no time.”
“This is totally cool,” Ben said, grinning at Jason, who secured Ben’s pack with bungee cords on the bottom of the sleigh.
Tempting Evil Page 7