by Alice Sharpe
“No,” he said, catching her hands. “You keep it. Anyone comes through that door, use it.”
“But Adam—”
“I can’t leave you and the kids here unprotected. I’ll ‘borrow’ the guard’s gun, don’t worry. Caution the kids to stay away from the door and try to stay out of sight. I love you, Chelsea.”
She looked up at him as he stood. “I love you, too,” she said.
* * *
ADAM RAN UP the dark hill, then circled back and approached the building from the road. He walked toward the pool of light by the main door, where the guard sat in a chair. The man stood as he caught sight of Adam.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Adam kept advancing. He fiddled with his pocket as though to show identification at the same time he spoke. “Davy said the truck will be here any second.”
“I know. I just got word they’re five minutes out.”
Adam stopped a foot or so in front of the man, made as if to show him identity and instead delivered a very fast blow to the man’s jaw. He went down in a flash. Adam dragged him to the side of the barn and quickly relieved him of his weapon. He checked it to make sure it was loaded. He also took his keys, flashlight, hat and jacket. He used the guard’s handcuffs to attach him to a drainage pipe and gagged him with his own necktie.
Satisfied, Adam shrugged on the jacket. It was tight but manageable. Now to unlock the shed. The noise of an engine and the creak of old springs alerted him that a vehicle was approaching, sans headlights. He saw its dark shape stop, turn and back toward the shed door.
Adam walked quickly back to the guard’s post, arriving in the pool of outdoor light right as the driver jumped out of the truck, a shotgun gripped in his hand. The passenger was half his size. He darted to the back of the truck, where he rolled open the back gate.
“Who the hell are you?” the driver asked as Adam approached.
“The other guy got sick. Davy sent me down here to relieve him,” Adam said as he glanced into the now open back of the truck. Lines of wooden benches ran along either side. No windows, nothing to hold on to. His stomach turned as he thought of those poor scared kids riding in the sinister enclave of this joyless truck.
“Open the shed,” the driver said. “We haven’t got all night.
“It’s hot out here, Lou,” the passenger complained as he mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “I haven’t eaten anything since noon. I don’t know why—”
“Stop complaining,” Lou said. “Cripes, Bennie, you drive me nuts.” He pointed the shotgun at Adam as if to motivate him. “Open the shed.”
These were the same two guys from the night before, Adam was sure of it. He found the right key. “One of the girls isn’t well,” he said as he swung open the door. “She needs a doctor.”
“That’s Denver’s problem.”
“She might be dead by Denver.”
Lou shrugged. “Hurry it up. We’ve got a long way to go tonight.”
Lou and Bennie both strolled into the dimly lit shed with authority, shining powerful flashlights, highlighting a bevy of frightened faces, including Mariana’s but not Chelsea’s. Adam’s gaze went immediately to the open window in the back—he half expected to find her hiding up there. Nothing. Mariana met his gaze and looked away.
The driver strode right over to Lucia, then called over his shoulder, “Bennie, get the girls into the truck.”
Bennie started yelling in very bad Spanish interspersed with equally poor English. The girls began moving outside. Adam glanced at Lou to find that he’d kneeled down to study Lucia’s condition more closely. As soon as Bennie looked away to reprimand one of the kids, Adam drew his stolen gun and slammed the grip hard against the guy’s round head, catching him as he slumped to the floor. He pocketed the man’s gun, worried for a moment the commotion would catch Lou’s attention, but the guy remained on his knees.
Adam crept forward until he was close enough to shove the barrel against the base of Lou’s skull. “Drop your weapon,” he said.
Lou didn’t move.
“A shot will paralyze you if it doesn’t kill you first,” Adam added. “Now, put the shotgun on the floor and push it away.”
The weapon clattered against the cement floor. The man shoved it off with his right hand.
“Stand up.”
“Who are you?” Lou snarled as he heaved himself upright.
“No friend of yours,” Adam said. He carefully retrieved the shotgun, then dragged a dazed-looking Bennie to his feet and prodded both men toward the door. The girls parted to let them pass.
They had just cleared the shed when another man approached from around the truck, his arm around Chelsea’s neck, a revolver pushed against her temple. Davy had finally made an appearance.
“Stop right there,” he called.
Adam looked right into Chelsea’s eyes. “Don’t do anything he says,” she said and paid for the remark as Davy tightened the arm around her neck.
“Stay where you are or I shoot her,” he growled. “Lou, take the shotgun and frisk him.” Lou paused. “It’s okay,” Davy prompted. “He’s not going to fire at you because he knows if he does I’ll kill this pretty little cook and then I’ll kill him and then I’ll still do anything I want with the girls.”
“You won’t risk a house full of Aimee’s guests hearing gunshots,” Adam said.
“Are you kidding? Why do you think the music is so loud?”
“The police are coming,” Chelsea added, her voice hoarse.
“Let ’em come. Go on, Lou. Do what I told you.”
Lou took all three weapons from Adam, then smashed his fist into Adam’s jaw. He would have kept it up if Davy hadn’t yelled at him to stop.
“Get the girls into the truck,” Davy ordered, “and then get the hell out of here.”
Bennie kind of staggered away but Lou took out his aggression by shoving the nearest teens past Adam. Mariana was one of them. As she passed Adam she whispered, “Mira en el delantal.”
He frowned as he tried to make sense of what she said but his thoughts quickly moved on as Davy pushed Chelsea toward him. He caught her before she fell. “You two, back inside.”
The trunk gate clanked closed behind the last girl and Lou secured it with a big padlock. Adam wrapped his arm around Chelsea’s waist and did as directed. It felt like a death march.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as they walked. “I thought I could help if I was outside but Davy found me hiding over by the guard you must have knocked out.”
“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” he told her and kissed her hair.
“By the way,” she added, “I think we should get married right this moment. Here and now. Forever. I love you, Adam.”
He kissed her again.
“Okay lovebirds, that’s far enough,” Davy said, but his attention was immediately diverted as he caught sight of Lucia tossing and turning on the bed of castoffs Chelsea and Mariana had created for her. Something red draped her body.
“Who the hell is that?” he demanded.
“She’s the girl you all but killed today,” Chelsea said.
“Oh, the knocked-up one. She’s not your main problem right now.”
Adam realized the red cloth was Chelsea’s apron. Mariana had whispered something about an apron—what other one but this? She’d said to look at it but all he saw was an apron.
“You two have really screwed this up for me,” Davy said. “What am I going to do with your dead bodies?”
“Here’s an idea,” Adam said, his mind working on how to examine that apron. “Don’t kill us.”
“It’s too late for that.” Davy studied Chelsea. “Such a shame because you, babe, are a beaut. All that red hair. I bet you’re hot, aren’t you?”
“Hot enough to burn you to a cinder,” Chelsea said defiantly. He grabb
ed her and roughly kissed her. Adam rushed him, but Davy once again used Chelsea as a shield and fired a bullet. It grazed Adam’s left arm. Chelsea screamed. Davy slapped her with the gun so hard she fell to the floor. Adam heard her head hit the cement and in a flash, he kneeled beside her. That put him close to the red apron. It was turned so the pocket was hidden next to Lucia.
Davy paced nearby, the gun trained on them, but his brow furrowed. It looked like he wasn’t used to doing his own dirty work, as though intimidating little girls was more his style. Chelsea moaned and Davy stopped pacing, his gaze riveted to her pale face, the gun clutched in a white-knuckled fist. It was like he longed to squish a bug but was too squeamish. Adam knew Davy would get over that as he considered his options.
He used the man’s distraction to drag the apron from Lucia and was immediately aware of the heavy shape inside the long pocket. When the garment bumped against his thigh, he knew. The object in the pocket was a gun and odds were good it was the one he’d left with Chelsea. She must have given it to Mariana when she left the shed and Mariana had then hidden it in the apron. He slid his hand in the pocket. His fingers closed around the grip. Without a second’s hesitation, he raised the weapon. Davy, sensing movement, turned. Adam fired—the bullet hit Davy right between the eyes and he went down like a ton of broken bricks.
Ignoring the fallen man, Adam rushed to gather Chelsea in his arms right as headlights shone into the shed. Thank goodness, help had arrived! As he gently lay her head back down, it finally registered on him there were no flashing lights, no sirens.
What now, or better yet, who now? He moved cautiously to the front of the shed, gun drawn.
A familiar shape emerged from a police vehicle with a darkened rack on top of the car.
“Whip?” Adam said.
“Good God almighty!” Whip said, his gun drawn. “Adam? Lord, boy, have you been shot?”
“It’s nothing,” Adam said for the first time recognizing the searing pain in his left upper arm. “I’m just so glad to see you. Get on the radio, get ambulances. There’s a van full of kidnapped minors on their way to Denver.” He stepped closer and handed Whip his gun. “This is the weapon used to kill the guy inside. It belongs to the guard, but I did the shooting.” His voice petered out as he noticed Whip didn’t lower his weapon.
“Whip?”
“Where’s Chelsea?” he asked.
“She’s unconscious back in the shed. We need an ambulance—”
“Is this where you’ve been holed up? Man, I’d laugh if I didn’t want to cry. Why didn’t you leave?”
“We had something to finish—”
“Finish? Is that what you call this?” Whip swore under his breath. “I begged you not to come to Arizona but I always knew you would.”
“I had to find out who was trying to kill me and why,” Adam said, stepping back. What was going on?
“When your friend Dennis told me about finding that box I knew eventually you’d come for it. I tried to steal it but he’d locked it away by then. Then you said something yesterday about a friend and I knew it was Dennis, I knew.”
“Whip, what’s in that box?” Adam said, an ominous feeling growing in his gut.
“I wanted you stopped but not here, not by me,” Whip continued.
“Listen,” Adam said, “first things first. We need to get help for Chelsea and the girl—”
“What girl?”
“The man I just killed, his name is Davy, he beat up a fourteen-year-old. She’s burning up and—”
“Is she wearing a pink dress?”
“No, she’s one of the new kids—wait. How do you know Mariana?” Adam asked as shivers ran up his spine. Was it possible Mariana’s tormentor wasn’t Tom Nolan, but...
“Damn Davy,” Whip grumbled. “Thinks he knows everything. I’ve been in this business for more than a decade, taking partners when I had to. Holton was a screwup, but I swear, Aimee is worse. When she brought in Davy things went from manageable to chaos.”
Adam stared at Whip. His head told him things his heart didn’t want to hear and for several seconds, the ensuing battle of truth vs. wishful thinking deafened him. Whip’s mouth moved but Adam couldn’t decipher a single word until all of a sudden, sound returned like a sonic boom. “I had everything under control,” Whip said.
“You’re in on this,” Adam said woodenly. “My God, you’re not only in on it, you started it. You and Ballard—”
“Ballard?” Whip scoffed. “No, I found someone else in the system who needed cash. When Ballard found out this guy sold you out, he came looking for me.”
“He drew the gun because he saw you coming up behind me,” Adam said.
“Yep, but he wasn’t fast enough. Now he’s under five feet of desert sand. It pains me, it truly does, that you and your girl will soon be lying right alongside him.”
Adam stared at a man he once thought he knew inside and out. “Has everything about you been a lie?”
“Just about,” Whip admitted.
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“You were searching for the box after my father died. That’s why you wanted to renovate the house, so you could look for it. What in the world is inside it?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “Okay, go back inside. I’ll make it quick.”
“The police, ambulances—”
“All canceled. No one’s going to ride to your rescue. Go hold Chelsea’s hand. Tell her you love her. It’s your last chance.”
Adam stood his ground. His head throbbed with disbelief and yet discrepancies in Whip’s behavior began to eat through his denial. Ballard’s shooting, sure, but even before that.
“I’ll shoot you right here if I have to,” Whip said.
“No, you won’t,” Chelsea said from behind Adam.
Adam turned and there she was, framed in the doorway, Davy’s gun clutched in her hands. She might be deathly pale but she was also strong and beautiful and when she smiled at him, her whole face looked...different.
“Give the gun to Adam, Whip. I used Davy’s phone, the police are on their way.”
Whip made no effort to do as she said.
“You’re the man Mariana told me about,” Chelsea continued. “You’re a depraved and evil soul. No more killing. It’s over. Give Adam your gun.”
The silence was deafening.
“Move out of the way, Adam,” she said.
The truth was he couldn’t move. His feet just wouldn’t budge.
The silence stretched on until Whip shook his head. “She’s right,” he said, his voice incredulous, his gun hand sinking to his side. “It is over.”
Adam reached for the weapon.
Whip met his gaze. “It’s over,” he repeated and in a flash, he’d pointed the gun at his own temple. “Over.”
Adam closed his eyes as Whip pulled the trigger.
Epilogue
One week later
“I’m ready to open it,” Adam said and, taking a knife, slit through the tape.
Chelsea had wondered when he would be able to face the box. Unwilling for anyone to see what was inside it until he did, Adam had taken the cardboard container from Whip’s car and hidden it in their van before the cops got there, before Lucia had been whisked to safety by an ambulance or Aimee Holton had been led away in handcuffs or Tom Nolan had been caught red-handed in a high-stakes drug deal with who else but the television actor.
Truth be told, the last few days had been wonderful. Without a vendetta against them, they’d had time to enjoy each other, enhanced by the miraculous fact Chelsea’s memory was back. She credited Davy’s push and the subsequent bash of her head against the cement. Adam was prone to saying his guardian angel had woken her just in time. Whatever, the fact was she now had a past. Her mom and dad, her sisters, h
er brother Bill, her grandmother’s face, her cute little food truck, her cat, her apartment, her overdue book—she had all that. And thanks to the baby growing in her body and the man sitting six inches to her right, she had a future.
All the pain and anger she’d assumed would engulf her once her memory returned had not happened. She’d already worked through all those feelings because while Steven had morphed into Adam, she had morphed, as well. She knew what it was like to be almost two different people, but not quite, not really.
And Chelsea’s next goal was to help Mariana discover the same thing about herself. The police had stopped the truck before it crossed the state line and the girls had been delivered into child protective services. Mariana couldn’t go home to her abusive parents so Chelsea had arranged to take her in. That meant relocating to Arizona, but Adam and his pal Dennis had big plans to build a tavern and she was open to anything as long as they were together. The important thing was that Mariana understood she had survived largely due to her own wits, that she was strong and unique and the future need not be a reflection of the past. Adam was as anxious to help Mariana as she was, so it looked as though before she gave birth to their own child, they would have Mariana to parent.
Adam, whose injured arm had healed as fast as all his other wounds seemed to, spread open the box flaps and removed a piece of dusty plastic revealing a diary with his mother’s name written on the cover. Tucked inside were a couple of pieces of paper clipped together.
“This is Dad’s writing,” he said as he looked at the papers. “I’m starting with them.”
She sat back as he read to himself, content to be here if he needed her, anticipating what he would really need was time to assimilate what he learned.
She’d almost dozed off when he put down the papers and looked at her. “I guess I should be flabbergasted, but after everything that’s happened...at least now I know the truth.”
She waited as he gathered his thoughts.
His voice was soft when he finally spoke. “I’ll paraphrase what I’ve learned, okay? Unbeknownst to me, it seems my mother suspected that Whip was the guy who seduced her student into running away. He was a young cop then, as fit and strong as his nickname implied. When she confronted him he told her she was mistaken. She talked to Dad but he didn’t believe her. He argued that poking around would only jeopardize their friendship. In other words, he stood by Whip instead of her. And apparently, he told Whip that Mom kept a diary.”