Rewrapping her ankle proved beyond her. She wadded up the elastic bandage and limped back up the hill toward camp. Her ankle protested at every step.
Although the day was brighter, ground mist snaked between the trees. It looked as if the fog would become thicker as evening wore on. Quiet bird calls ruled the forest. The only other sounds, her soft footfalls on the grassy ground.
The Suburban’s back doors were open. Nick knelt inside. Intent on what he was doing, he didn’t look up. She hoped Bella was in the tent and the door flap zipped securely. A twig cracked under her foot.
Nick’s reaction was instantaneous. He twisted around, his hands a blur of motion. She faced the barrel of a revolver pointing directly at her heart.
“Oh, Lord,” she moaned. A tremble began in her legs and traveled up her body. She clenched her teeth against the terror threatening to overwhelm her. The gun disappeared behind his back. It was still there in her mind.
All that came out of her mouth was, “You, you, you –”
Then he was out of the Suburban and holding her against him. Her balled fists were a barrier between them.
“Alyssa, I’m sorry,” he said. “So sorry.”
Terror choked her throat, and she could not speak.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Finally, her breathing settled to a normal pace, and her throat opened enough so she could whisper. “Okay. I’m okay.”
He bent his head. “Then look at me and say that.”
She looked into his eyes. “I’m okay.”
He folded her back into his arms. “You want to tell me about it?”
It was time to take control, time to let go of her fear. What had happened to her more than half her lifetime ago couldn’t hurt her any more. She had to live in the here and now. The past was past and could not hurt her unless she allowed it. She had to focus on the present and the danger she faced.
Maybe telling him would lay her ghosts to rest. She nodded, but couldn’t unclench her fists and reach out to him. He released her and led her to the picnic table.
“Where’s Bella?” she said as she sat down.
“I put her in the tent. Didn’t want her to run off.”
“You might want to put her back where the litter box is.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He went and unzipped the tent enough to reach in and grasp the cat. Instead of holding her at arm’s length, he cradled her against his chest. Bella rubbed her head under his chin. In a moment, she was shut in the Suburban and Nick stood beside Alyssa. He took the elastic bandage from her hand, wrapped her ankle and then sat across the table from her.
“Talk,” he said. His voice was gentle. “What is going on with you and guns?”
“Nightmares.”
“And nightmares. I still owe you for the window I broke trying to save you.”
She managed half a smile, then took a deep breath and began. She told him how Ellen and Henry had raised her after the deaths of her parents and older brother when she was four. She talked about being twelve years old and sitting in the shop with Uncle Henry that night, about the noises and the intruder and about Uncle Henry telling her to get the gun. She admitted how guilty she’d felt about her paralysis in the face of danger. She related the circumstances of the botched robbery: the shot and Uncle Henry collapsing and her belief he’d been shot because of her inability to act.
She stopped talking and sat quietly.
“Your uncle was killed by the intruder?” he said.
Alyssa shook her head. “I thought he was, but the robber fired into the ceiling. My uncle died of a heart attack. I thought it was my fault. I thought if I had only gotten the gun for him, things would have turned out differently.”
“There was nothing you could have done, Alyssa. It was just a random event.”
She looked up. His dark eyes mirrored her pain. “Intellectually,” she said, “I know that, but my mind disagrees with itself.”
“So that’s why guns set you off?” She nodded. He rose and came around behind her. His hands on her shoulders were warm. “It sounds like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Did you ever get counseling?”
She shook her head. “I think Ellen felt she could help me by making my life as normal as possible. We seldom talked about it. You know, if you don’t say it, it isn’t real. And when we did talk about it, it was only the surface things. I never told anybody before – even my aunt – how I couldn’t move to help him.”
Nick gazed at her for a long moment. Then he pulled her to her feet. “Alyssa, you have to see something.” He directed her toward the Suburban.
“Oh no. You’re not going to do the desensitizing stuff.” She shook her head. “Don’t try to cure me.”
“Please, Alyssa. It’s not what you’re thinking. I promise I won’t play shrink. I just need you to explain something.”
Reluctantly, she followed him.
At the back of the Suburban he pulled out the old tackle box and opened it. A gun rested on top of the first aid supplies. The blood rushed from her head. Dizziness threatened her equilibrium. She leaned against the Suburban. No, she would not faint. She would not.
“No,” she uttered the syllable aloud as a charm against the encroaching terror. Then louder, “No, I will not lose it.” She closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe more calmly. It was the gun he had pointed at her earlier, not his own weapon. She looked up at him. “Where did you find this?”
“It was wrapped up in a towel under the first aid stuff. I didn’t see it before when I got the bandage for your ankle. What do you know about it?”
“It’s Uncle Henry’s gun. I recognize it because of the ivory handle and the monogram.” A large ornate A had been carved into the handle.
Nick looked puzzled. “But it’s not your Uncle’s initial.”
“No. He bought it at an estate sale shortly after I came to live with them. A family named Anderson – something of an heirloom. My uncle always said the ivory was worth more than the gun. My initial on it was just an interesting coincidence. After Henry died, it became a horrifying coincidence.”
“What’s it doing in the first aid kit?”
“I don’t know. I never saw the gun again. I assumed Ellen sold it or something. The Suburban was Ellen’s, and the first aid kit was her idea. I guess she must have wanted the gun for protection.”
Nick nodded. “Could be. It’s in good shape. Recently cleaned, no rust, loaded and ready to go. And there’s a little plastic holder with a current gun permit in her name.”
Alyssa turned away. “Nick, can you just get rid of it?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “The river’s a good place.”
Alyssa breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She sat down at the picnic table. Her hands still trembled.
Nick set off with the towel wrapped gun. Alyssa closed her eyes and listened until she heard a small splash. Then she had second thoughts. Might she need the gun? Who would she shoot? Reason told her Nick’s weapon was better. He knew how to use it. Could she trust him to protect her?
He returned with the towel, crawled into the back of the Suburban and stowed the first aid kit. Then he sat next to her at the picnic table.
“Any fear can be overcome, Alyssa,” he said. “Fear only scares us because we let it.” He shrugged. “That’s what counseling teaches.”
“Experience?”
He nodded. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I promise to keep you safe.”
They didn’t know who their enemies were. They weren’t sure who their allies were. Even if Nick meant to protect her, it might not be possible. But she didn’t believe he would intentionally let something bad happen to her.
Chapter 14
Fog rolled in, bringing an early darkness. Just as well, Alyssa thought. Whoever was out there looking for them would have a harder time seeing them.
She drove up and down the street several times while Nick searched the shadows for hidden observers. On the third pass he no
dded and pointed, and she parked across from the Stevens’ house.
They got out of the SUV. Far-spaced streetlights lined the street, their glow blurred by the mist. She ducked her head to shadow her face with the bill of the baseball cap. Still limping, she tried to keep up with Nick’s long-legged strides.
If someone were watching them, she would be easy to catch. Fear clenched her stomach.
The Stevens’ house was dark. Nick led her around to the side door. No outside light. The stoop was shadowed by the house. Nick knocked twice, paused, and then knocked twice again.
Alyssa tapped his arm. “Code?” It seemed melodramatic.
Nick shrugged. His hand was inside his outer shirt, close to his gun. His eyes held a distant, intensely focused look.
“It’s open.” A man’s voice from inside.
Alyssa glanced up at Nick, but he displayed no recognition of the voice. He pushed the door open a crack, then swung it back all the way and stepped through, one arm guiding Alyssa close behind him.
It was darker inside, and for a moment she saw only the vague shape of a man no more than ten feet away. His face and arms gleamed pale in the half-light, and he held a shotgun pointed at them. Her stomach lurched up to meet her heart. She tried to look away, could only stare, enthralled by the gun. Nick froze.
“Both of you,” the man said, “put your hands on top of your heads ‒ slow.” His voice was low, tight and controlled. Alyssa raised her trembling hands and locked her fingers on top of her head. Nick obeyed.
The man reached behind him and flipped a switch, bathing the room in light. Alyssa blinked at the sudden brightness of an ordinary kitchen. The air was redolent with the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. The kitchen was mostly white and immaculate, with fresh flowers in a vase on a small table in one corner. There were four chairs at the table, one with a child’s booster seat. The man with the shotgun stood with his back to the sink. He wore a bulletproof vest over his blue uniform shirt. A badge was pinned to the vest.
At first glance the two men could be brothers. Except Nick was clean-shaven, and this man had a short beard.
“Alyssa,” Nick said, “meet Will Stevens.”
Alyssa held her breath in silence that stretched until she had to breathe or faint.
“Who are you?” Will’s voice was almost a growl.
Words could not get past the lump in Alyssa’s throat.
“Travis,” Nick said.
“Travis died in a fire three years ago,” the other man said. The shotgun did not waver. “Now who the hell are you?”
“I had some plastic surgery.” Nick moved with deliberate slowness and removed his baseball cap. “But I don’t think I look that different. We go back too far for you to be holding a gun on me, Will.”
Alyssa’s brain spun. Had Nick lied?
“Scouts,” Nick said. “Basketball, getting into trouble at school. Remember when we poured honey in Kevin Wilkerson’s hair and dumped him in the trash barrel for breaking up with your sister? Remember how I introduced you to Cathy Johnson, who was my date, and who you managed to marry right out from under my nose? I’m Sara Sue’s godfather, for chrissakes.”
The man with the gun smiled a grim smile. “My daughter’s name is Sara Ann, not Sara Sue.”
Dizziness overtook Alyssa. She sank to the floor, trying to keep her hands on her head so she would not be shot. The door was hard against her back. Nick wasn’t Will’s friend. It was all some elaborate ruse.
“Why did you always call her Sara Sue when you knew it made Cathy crazy?” Will lowered the shotgun and crossed the space between them in two strides. He grabbed Nick in a one-armed bear hug.
“My God, Travis, my God, it’s you.” Tears filled his eyes. “It really is you.”
Nick hugged back. “Yeah, Will, it really is me.” His voice cracked. I’m Nick Trammel now.”
Will stepped away. “You don’t really look that much different, now that I see you up close, but you do look like hell warmed over. I thought you were dead.”
“I was.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “How –”
“Witness protection.” Nick said. “I can’t explain it all, Will, because I don’t know all of it. But I’m” ‒ he glanced at Alyssa ‒ “we’re in a lot of trouble. Maybe you should put the gun down. She’s pretty shaky about weapons.”
Alyssa was still focused on the gun. It seemed to be growing larger. She felt reality slipping. PTSD. What she experienced had a name. Soldiers got it and overcame it. She could fight it. Had to fight it. She forced herself to look away from the weapon to Will’s face.
Will set the shotgun behind him on the countertop and reached down to Alyssa. “Here, let me give you a hand.” He lifted her easily to her feet. He was about the same height as Nick, but bulkier. His dark hair had a slight auburn tint. Gray hairs flecked his temples.
“We’d better let you sit down,” Will said and led her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Coffee?” he offered.
“Yes, thank you,” she murmured, an automatic response. When she looked away from him, the shotgun consumed her thoughts.
Will picked up the weapon and leaned it next to the kitchen doorway.
“You made coffee?” Nick seated himself next to Alyssa.
Will shrugged and reached for three mugs on the counter. “I didn’t know what to think when I got the phone call. I never did feel right about your … death. Too pat. I spoke to the Feds, but they wouldn’t say anything. Everybody I called at the Agency stonewalled me. When you called,” he nodded toward Alyssa, “I wasn’t sure what was going on, so I decided to be ready for anything. I put on my vest, loaded my shotgun and made coffee. So, no matter which way it went, I was covered. Cream?” he asked Alyssa.
“Please,” she said. “Milk if you don’t have cream.”
“Same here,” Nick said.
“I remember.” Will set the steaming mugs in front of them. “None of that fake stuff.” From the refrigerator he took a small container of cream and set that on the table, too. Alyssa’s hands trembled when she reached for the cream. She pulled back and put both hands in her lap and willed them to stillness. Do not think of guns.
“You hungry?” Will gestured toward the fridge.
“No,” Alyssa said, “we loaded up on pasties on the way here.”
“Ah.” Will sighed. “You should taste Cathy’s. She makes the best ones in the universe.”
“These were the first real food we’ve had in two days, so they were terrific,” Nick said. “We had the real Cornish kind with rutabagas.”
He leaned across the table and poured a dollop of cream into Alyssa’s cup and then his own. Looked up at his friend. “You’re a brave man, Will Stevens, to let us come to your house when you weren’t sure.”
Will snorted. “It was ‘Alas, Escanaba’ that got me.” He settled opposite them.
Nick glanced around the tidy kitchen. “Will, where’s the family?”
“On the phone you said just me, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. So I sent Cathy and the kids to St. Ignace to see her sister for a couple of days.”
“Kids?” Nick said. “Plural?”
“A boy.”
“You have a little boy?” Nick stared.
“Yup, he’s two and a half, the spitting image of his old man.” Will’s chest puffed with pride.
“I didn’t know,” Nick said.
“We found out Cathy was pregnant just after … after the fire.” Will cleared his throat. “We named him Travis Johnson Stevens.”
“You named him after me?” A note of awe infused Nick’s voice.
Will nodded. “We had a girl’s name.” He looked down at his coffee.
Nick lowered his head and rubbed his jaw.
“Nick.” Alyssa touched his sleeve. “What is it?” He shook his head, making a visible effort to gain control of his emotions.
“God, Will,” Nick said without looking up. “God. I just wish ….” He glanced up at Alyssa, his face once a
gain placid. “We’re in trouble. And I haven’t introduced you.”
“I wondered when you’d get around to that,” Will said.
Nick gestured to Alyssa. “This is ‒”
“Mallory, isn’t it?” Will said.
“Alyssa,” she said.
Will didn’t take his gaze off her. “Staties are looking for both of you in connection with the shooting of a police officer in Flint.”
“No,” Alyssa said. “No, it’s not true.” How could he think that of them?
Will turned to Nick. “So, then, I guess she’s the accomplice.”
Nick shook his head. “It’s a set-up, Will. She’s an innocent bystander, a school teacher. They’re after me, the same way they were after me before.”
Will gazed coolly at Nick. “What about the shooting?”
Nick shook his head again. “There were no cops. Just a couple of thugs. Hit men, I think. And the guy who got shot wasn’t shot by me, but by them.”
“Carl,” Alyssa said softly.
“Alyssa’s partner in the antique business,” Nick said. “They got him with a tranquilizer dart meant for me. Or her.”
“I thought you said she was a school teacher,” Will said.
“It’s my aunt’s shop,” Alyssa put in. “Or it was until she died last week.”
Nick stared hard at his friend. “Will, I know it sounds fantastic, but it’s true. We’re not responsible for shooting anybody.”
Will turned to Alyssa. “Your name is Alicia?”
“Alyssa.”
“Alyssa.” He smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? How’d you meet up with this bum?”
“Will,” Nick said, “we don’t have time ‒”
Will held up a hand. “Just let her tell me. If I’m going to help, I need all the facts. We always agreed that saying ‘Alas, Escanaba’ was only for the direst of emergencies. You must think your situation is desperate. I need to know it all.” To Alyssa, “Hit the highlights. Tell me everything.”
Double Danger Page 15