"No, Mama, but Ramsey would."
"That's right, I would. Go, Molly. There's no time for any more discussion. If they're the guys I'll be out as soon as I can, probably walking really fast."
"You made a joke, just like Mama does."
"Maybe."
Molly gave him a final long look, grabbed her purse, kept her attention on Emma, and walked with her to the back of the small restaurant, through the doorway. Slowly, Ramsey turned around just as he raised his hand to the waitress. They were standing with their backs to him. One was tall and thin, the other short. He couldn't tell if he was bow-legged or not. He didn't think they were the same guys who'd come to the cabin. How could they be? He'd shot both the bastards. He didn't have his Smith & Wesson. The restaurant was pretty crowded. He prayed the men wouldn't do anything stupid.
The waitress smiled down at him. He said without looking at her, "Is there a back way out of here?"
"Yeah, there's a back door just beside the men's room."
"Good. How much do I owe you?"
She wrote down a couple of more things, frowned as she added, then ripped off the paper and handed it to him, saying, "You guys didn't eat all that much so I took a bit off the bill."
"That's really nice of you. My wife was feeling a bit on the edge. She's pregnant."
"Oh, well, congratulations. It happens to the best of us, getting sick that is."
"Hey, Elsa, how's tricks?"
The guy looked like a cowboy with a gut. He was standing behind the waitress. Ramsey couldn't see his face because Elsa was large, had very big hair, and was standing squarely between them. But it wasn't one of the men at the cabin. He didn't know whether to be relieved or worried over a possible new threat.
"I'm mean and pretty as ever," she said, turning to face the man, blocking Ramsey's view of him. "You're new, aren't you? You move here or something?"
"Yeah. Me and the missus came down from Wyoming. Nice around here."
"Yeah. You want some lunch, then go sit with your friend at that booth." She pointed with the pencil then stuck it behind her ear.
"Hey, mister, what happened to that pretty little girl I was smiling at?"
Ramsey slowly rose. Elsa stepped out of the way, alarm suddenly hitting her brain. Ramsey towered over the man, who was middle-aged, losing the war to fat, and looked as sincere and nice as Ted Bundy had probably looked.
"Hey, buddy, that your kid?"
"Yes, she's my kid. Why do you want to know?"
"No reason. She's just cute, like one of my little granddaughters."
Ramsey handed the waitress a twenty, saying to both of them, "Have a good day. Bye now." He went to the front door, but not before he looked for the other man. He didn't see him. Not seeing him bothered him a lot more. Where was the bastard?
His gut was dancing double time. He looked back again. There was no single guy in the restaurant. Why had the man wanted to know about Emma?
It was then he heard the screech of brakes. He was out the door in an instant to see Molly backing up the Jeep, then slamming on the brakes again to miss a parked pickup truck, by about four inches. He saw a man running toward her. She gunned the engine and the Jeep shot forward. The man shouted and dived into the scrawny bushes that lined the wall of the restaurant.
"Molly!"
He grabbed the passenger door, pulled it open, and jumped in.
She was onto the entrance ramp to the 70 before he even got the door closed.
He looked back to see the man dusting off his pants, staring after them. Then the man he'd been speaking to came out. The two men conferred, heads bent close. He lost sight of them as Molly veered onto the 70, tires screaming.
"Ramsey."
He heard the small voice and looked down. Emma was scrunched on the floor at his feet. "Come here, kiddo. We're just fine. Your mama's a heroine. She saved us. Come here and hug me. I need some attention and a kiss. Yeah, a kiss would make my heart slow down and put my stomach back where it belongs."
Emma crawled up and let him lift her onto his lap. Now wasn't the time to worry about his seat belt. She kissed him on the cheek. "That's better. Thanks." He said calmly to Molly, "Slow down, and go out at this next exit."
"But-oh, yes, you're right. Then we'll see if they follow."
"Slow down. We don't want to attract any attention. When you get off, make a sharp right, and drive behind that Mobil gas station. Emma, hug me tighter. Yeah, that's better."
"If I see them, I'm going to get back on the highway. Maybe we can see their license plate. You'd be able to find out who it belongs to, won't you?"
He nodded. She looked calm and steady, handling the Jeep well enough. Emma was hanging onto him like a leech. It felt good, those skinny little arms of hers choking his neck. The kid had grit.
Molly was off the highway, veering right, then turning sharply right toward the back of the Mobil station, all in the space of about twenty seconds. "Well done," he said. "Now, kiddo," he said to Emma, "I want you to look with me back up to the highway. We want to see if those two men are following us."
"I should have waited to see what car they were driving," Molly said. She hit the steering wheel with her fist. "I just had to keep moving. I didn't think it through."
"It's okay. We'll recognize them. Keep looking." A dark green Corolla went by with two women inside.
Then a truck with a single guy and a big German shepherd, his head out the window, his tongue hanging long. There was a space of five heartbeats, then a filthy black truck, its bed empty. In the cab were two men.
"That's them," Ramsey said. "Okay, Molly, ease back onto the highway. Keep a minimum of three cars back."
She was already driving out from behind the Mobil station. There was a small white Honda in front of her. She wanted to honk, to run over it, to yell at the older woman driving, but she managed to keep herself calm and steady, but she was whispering, "Move, move, move."
Ramsey just kept his arms loosely around Emma. "You okay, kiddo?"
"I'm scared, Ramsey."
His arms tightened around her. He kissed the top of her head. "I wish I could give you the power not to be afraid of anything, Emma, but I can't. Fear isn't bad, just as long as it doesn't freeze you up. I know you don't like to think about it, but you didn't freeze up that time. You managed to escape and run into the woods and I found you. You were extraordinarily brave. And so you see that if you just keep thinking, if you don't give up, then you can help yourself. You've got a chance." He knew Molly was listening. "You won't forget that, will you, Em?"
"No," she whispered. "I won't forget. There's the truck, Ramsey. Mom's close now."
"Can you see the license number?"
"It's really dirty, but I can see it."
Then he laughed. "You can see it but you can't tell me the letters or numbers. I'm going to teach you how to read tomorrow, okay, kiddo?"
"I know how to read a little. Mama's taught me. She reads to me all the time. She points her finger at the words while she's reading. You think it'll just take one day?"
"With you, maybe just half a day." He said to Molly, "It looks to me like it's a B, then an L, then mud's all smeared over the next letter. There's a space, then three-eight-eight-something. That last number's too smeared to make out."
"You'll find a cell phone in my bag. Since you're a federal judge, you're bound to know someone who can tell us who owns the truck. Once you find that out, I promise I'll call the cops in Denver and tell them. You don't have to tell anybody anything. Now, I'll hang back until you find out."
A cell phone. She had a cell phone and hadn't told him until they were holding on by their teeth. He wanted to yell at her, but he didn't. He pulled out the slim phone. He started to call Virginia Trolley in San Francisco, then paused. No, she couldn't do anything. He needed someone objective, someone with an inside track who wouldn't butt in, but would give him all the help he could. He dialed the main number to the FBI in Washington, B.C., and asked for Dillon Savich in
the Criminal Apprehension Unit.
In two minutes he was talking to Savich. "Why don't you ever use my e-mail, Ramsey? You know I hate phones. I think when I was a kid a phone cord must have wrapped around my neck and nearly choked me to death."
"Sorry, I don't have my laptop and modem with me. Long story. I need help, Savich."
"Talk to me."
No hesitation, no questions. Ramsey said, "I need to know who belongs to this license plate." He gave Savich the information. "I'm on a cell phone." He gave him the phone number. "Yeah, I'll keep it on. I owe you one, Savich."
A grunt, nothing more. Ramsey smiled into the cell phone. He hung up but left the phone button on.
"Who did you call? The police in San Francisco?"
"No. I called a friend of mine in Washington, D.C."
"A good friend, if he didn't ask you any questions."
"Yes, a good friend. We met about four years ago at a law-enforcement conference in Chicago. At that time I was with the U.S. Attorney's office. Savich is into karate, big time, does an exhibition now and again. He got married about six months ago to another agent named Sherlock. Keep further back, Molly."
"Oh no."
The truck was slowing. The man in the passenger seat was looking back. "They've gone far enough to know we're not there ahead of them. Slow down more, Molly. Yeah, let that Chevy get ahead of you.
Good."
He pressed Emma against him. "I don't want them catching sight of you, kiddo. Keep down."
"They're pulling out, Ramsey," Molly said.
He wanted to follow. So did Molly, probably. But they couldn't, not with Emma such an open target.
"It won't matter," Ramsey said. "Once we know who owns the truck, we'll have what we need. We don't have to do everything."
"I don't know about that," she said, her voice all rough and low. Then she smiled at Emma and said, "Sure thing," and slowed down even more.
"They're hanging on the side, just the way we did." He weighed the options. "Drive like a bat out of hell, Molly. In a couple of exits, we're out of here."
She didn't hesitate for an instant. She floored the gas pedal. The Jeep hit ninety miles an hour quickly.
They sped by two exits, Molly weaving in and out like a pro, then she slowed and swung off at the third exit onto a high arcing road that flattened finally, headed due south.
"Good going. Just keep driving, then pull over about a mile toward-what's the name of the town in this direction?"
"Paulson, according to the sign we just passed."
"Yeah, it's about three miles to Paulson. Let's go nearly to the town, then take a side road. We'll just sit there for a while. I'll bet everyone's thirsty. We'll have to buy a bottle of water."
"I have to go to the bathroom," Emma said.
"I do, too," Ramsey said, hugging her. "Hold it just three more minutes, Em."
The cell phone trilled a soft high whine.
"Savich?"
"Yes. Since you didn't have a clean set, we have three possibilities."
"Okay. I've got a pen and paper." Molly watched him pull a pad from the glove compartment and write down names and addresses. She heard him say, "Thanks, Savich. I owe you big time." There was a long pause, then, "I'll tell you everything when I can, but not just yet. Say hello to Sherlock for me."
He shut down the phone.
"It appears that we've lost those guys from the restaurant. I still think we should call the cops, Molly."
"No, not yet. Please, not yet."
He sighed deeply. The last thing he wanted was for her to try to take Emma and go off on her own. He had a strong feeling she'd do just that if he didn't play by her rules. It wasn't just that she didn't trust the police. It was something more, something she hadn't told him. "Well, hell," he said, "let's go to Aspen and stay at the Jerome. I'll take you guys to the Cantina for a good Mexican meal."
Molly pulled off the road a minute later. She took Emma to the cover of some bushes. Molly met his eyes over a tangle of blackberries. He had eyes nearly as black as his hair, thick hair a bit on the long side since he'd been away from civilization for three weeks. He had a strong face, high cheekbones, an olive complexion. She wondered if he didn't have some Italian blood lurking somewhere. He also had the beginnings of a five-o'clock shadow. Actually, now that she was really looking at him for the first time, she realized he was handsome, not drop-dead handsome like a film star, but handsome in a way that was calm and strong, a handsome that you could trust. She owed him the rest of the truth, but not just yet.
She thought, as she helped Emma with her clothes, that it felt rather strange not to be alone anymore.
She'd known him for less than one day. It seemed longer, but the fact was that she didn't really know him at all. She knew his reputation, but not the man. He'd saved Emma. That was really the beginning and the end of it. He'd have her gratitude forever.
She smiled at him.
Ramsey did a double take. He smiled back at her automatically. He'd been wishing that he'd gotten a look at the other man at the restaurant. Were they dealing with two new men entirely? Probably so.
There'd been no sign that either of them had been wounded. If they were new on the scene, then there might be a lot more going on here. What was Molly keeping from him?
He handed Molly the cell phone when she and Emma got back to the Jeep. "It's time to call the Denver police. It's time to tell them that Emma's safe. Whatever else you don't want to tell them, then keep it to yourself. But at least do that much."
She pulled a small notebook from her large shoulder bag. She looked up a number, then dialed it in. He handed her the paper with the three names and addresses on it. He moved to the driver's side, watching Emma crowd close to her.
She gave no greeting, just, "I've got my daughter back, Detective Mecklin."
"Is that you, Mrs. Santera? What did you say? Are you all right? Are you injured?"
"No I'm not hurt. I said that I've got my daughter back, Detective." She could practically see those wide blue eyes of his narrowing as he stared at the phone, wondering if she'd lost it or not. She really didn't care. She rather hoped she'd never have to deal with Mecklin again, but here she was on the phone to the jerk. She'd thought he believed it was her fault that Emma was taken. She had hated him for helping to pile that guilt on her. She still did. She'd felt enough guilt on her own.
There was a very long silence, then, "I don't understand how that can be possible."
She laughed, the tension beginning to lighten. She was beginning to enjoy herself. The sexist jerk. "It is, believe me. Would you like me to tell you what's happened?"
"But we just got a ransom note last night. The kidnappers want $500,000."
"Don't let anyone pay it. I've got my daughter right here, Detective. Emma, say hello to the detective."
"Hello, Detective Mecklin. I'm with my mom and Ram-sey. He saved me and then my mommy found us.
We're okay."
"Ramsey? Who the hell's this Ramsey?"
Molly pulled the phone back up. "That's not important for the moment, Detective Mecklin. Listen to me.
I've got three names and addresses that go with these license plate letters and numbers. You need to see which of these fits with Emma's kidnappers. One of them does, count on it."
"I don't understand this, Mrs. Santera. You need to come back to Denver and talk to us. If you really have Emma, you need to bring her in to see us. We've got doctors here for her, a shrink trauma team, everything she'll need. Was that really Emma? Are you all right, Mrs. Santera? Where are you?"
"Will you do anything with the information if I give it to you, Detective Mecklin, or am I wasting my time?"
There was another long pause with very controlled breathing. "Give me the info," he said.
She read out the names and addresses very slowly, occasionally repeating. "I don't recognize any of these names myself, but one of them has to be involved with the kidnappers. Now maybe you've got a chance to cat
ch them. Surely there's a drop site indicated on the note. Well, now you don't have to worry about Emma. You can forget the trauma team. Do your job, Detective. Nail the bad guys. Oh yeah, the guy who kidnapped Emma took her to a cabin not far from Dillinger. I'm sure he's not there anymore but you may find out something."
"Are you in Dillinger, Mrs. Santera?"
"No, Detective, I'm not, so please don't bother siccing any local cops on me."
"This sure puts a mighty different spin on things, Mrs. Santera."
"Sure does," she agreed. "You're sure you've got everything?"
"Yeah, I've got it. But you've got to tell me what's going on. The FBI agents just walked in. They want to talk to you. They don't think-"
She spoke over him, slowly and clearly. "The license is on a dirty black pickup truck. It's fairly new. A Chevy. You've got that?"
"Yes, yes. Hold on. Don't hang up, Mrs. Santera. You need us. Here's Agent Anchor."
"I don't think so, Detective. Give them the information. They'll drool, if they bother to believe it."
"We would have gotten this information in a very short time. Now, I believe you, Mrs. Santera, but… well, you see, this is very irregular." It was Agent Anchor, a man with a great deal of experience with kidnappings. He was also a dictator who believed everyone except himself had a brain the size of a pea.
He'd ordered the Denver cops around as if they were his personal chattel.
"No buts, Agent Anchor. Catch the men who took my daughter."
"You have no idea if any of these license plates has anything to do with the kidnappers, do you? Look, I don't understand any of this. Tell me where you are. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Mrs.
Santera? You may be in danger. Tell me where you found Emma. You can't just call in and order us around and-"
"Agent Anchor, go catch the kidnappers. Ah, that pickup truck was last seen just west of Rappahoe on Highway 70." Molly smiled as she pushed the Off button. "I hated to tell him that because he's not stupid and he'll know that's where we are, too. But I had to, otherwise, how could they catch them? I hope they can locate that cabin quickly, maybe find something helpful."
"No, you're right. You had to tell them. By the time they get themselves together, we'll be tucked safely away in Aspen. They really shouldn't care all that much about us, and where we are, but who knows? At least our perps don't know we got them tagged. They shouldn't be hiding out. Were the Fed agents a big pain?"
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