In Seconds

11

Now she’d done it. She’d made the sheriff so determined to learn more about her that he might actually dedicate some time and resources to it. Which was the last thing she needed…

How was she going to get him to back off?

The obvious answer would be to move out of state without a forwarding address. But that wasn’t any more appealing now than it’d been before. She didn’t want to live anywhere else. She had her kids in a place she loved; she had a business that was beginning to thrive—or soon would be. She deserved to be able to stay here, to continue building her life, didn’t she?

Even if she didn’t, she wasn’t leaving.

That meant she had to do something about the sheriff.

Or maybe not. What if she simply avoided him for a while? There wasn’t any way he could find out who she really was. He had her ex-husband’s initials. So what? That wasn’t enough to go on. He wasn’t like The Crew, who knew Virgil and Rex so well and were familiar with her background—who’d been tracking her for four years. If Myles tried to dig up any details about her past, it would only lead to one dead end after another, because he didn’t know what to look for. Besides, he had Pat’s murder investigation to worry about, which was much more important than filling in the details of her past—

She froze as she reached her house. The front door stood slightly ajar.

She’d locked it; she was absolutely certain of that. Had Jake or Mia come home for a toy or a treat?

They were asleep, so she couldn’t ask. And since she’d already parted company with Sheriff King, she planned to do everything she could to avoid further interaction. Hopefully, time would take care of the mistakes she’d made, allow all those confusing emotions she’d stirred up to dissipate so their relationship could return to what it had been before, what it had to remain.

Besides, if The Crew was waiting inside, Vivian couldn’t think of a better time to confront them. At least her children weren’t with her. No other innocent bystanders could be hurt. It was just her—and them. And she had a gun.

Come on, you bastards. I’m done. Let’s finish this here and now.

Taking the Sig from her waistband, she removed the safety and crept silently across the porch. She imagined the sheriff hearing a series of gunshots, knew he’d come running, but by the time he showed up, whatever was going to happen could well be over. Either the men who were trying to kill her would be dead, or she would, at which point she hoped The Crew would flee without hurting anyone else.

If only her shooting skills weren’t quite so rusty. Could she hit a man? Especially one who might be moving? And, if so, could she fire fast enough and absorb the recoil of each shot in time to aim and shoot again?

They did it all the time in the movies. But this wasn’t a movie. She could be confronting three or four men, maybe more. The one called Ink still appeared in her nightmares. She’d seen what he could do, what they could all do. They killed with no remorse.

But Ink was in prison, and he was the one who frightened her most. She wouldn’t have to deal with him.

Calm down. If she could pull this off, she’d be doing Virgil and his wife and son, even the new baby, a huge favor. She’d be freeing the people she loved, including—and perhaps most of all—her own children. That made it worth the risk, didn’t it? She was so tired of running, so tired of living in fear that someone she loved would be hurt.

Besides, she no longer wanted to be the person The Crew had twisted her into: Trying to reach you is like…grasping at smoke!

She hadn’t chosen to be that way…?.

The door creaked as she gave it a gentle push.

Moonlight streamed across her living room floor in elongated squares. The landlord she’d just bought the house from hadn’t provided blinds for the old heavy-paned windows. Not in the front rooms. And she’d never gone to the expense of getting them herself. Her neighbors weren’t close enough to be able to see in, and thanks to the bears there weren’t many people walking around the lake after dark. With all her family’s other needs, blinds hadn’t seemed like a high priority, not when she did the majority of her work in the basement once the kids went to sleep. That was where she had her work-room.

The rattle of her own breathing spooked her. Holding her breath, she slipped through the door, then paused to listen. If there were people in her house, they weren’t ransacking the dressers and cupboards. She couldn’t hear a sound…?.

Maybe The Crew had come and gone. Or maybe they hadn’t come at all, and she was worked up over nothing.

She was just beginning to chide herself for being paranoid, when she spotted two footprints on the hardwood floor framed by one of those ethereal-looking squares. Someone had come in, and it wasn’t her children. Those footprints were too large. They had to belong to a man. And they were fresh. As meticulous as she was about keeping this wood floor polished, she would’ve noticed them earlier.

A hard lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Was her intruder alone?

Fortunately, she saw only one set of prints. But that wasn’t conclusive. Maybe his companions wore different kinds of shoes, ones with soles that didn’t pick up enough dust to stick to the polish.

A bead of sweat rolled from her hairline. This was it, all right. She’d soon come face-to-face with the end, one way or another.

Praying she’d survive, she swallowed hard and forced her legs to carry her forward. The adrenaline that was supposed to come in so handy during a fight was actually sapping her strength, making her light-headed. With her heart chugging a mile a minute, and her body slick with sweat, she couldn’t even hold the gun steady.

But she so badly wanted this to be over that she didn’t give up and turn around. Eyes as wide as possible, so she could take in every bit of light, she made herself move farther inside. She studied the darker recesses, searching for any indication of where her visitor had gone.

The footsteps led to the kitchen. At least, they seemed to. Was someone waiting for her?

Swinging doors, which she’d almost removed a million times because she thought they were so ugly, kept her from being able to see what lay beyond. But she was more familiar with the layout of the house than anyone else. That gave her an advantage.

She did what she could to steel herself for the worst, then quietly pushed through.

The kitchen was darker, and she blinked several times so her eyes could adjust. Then she saw it. A shadow. Outside. Moving fast.

Hoping to catch a glimpse, she rushed to the windows only to realize it was Marley’s cat, who made himself at home in both yards. But just as she sagged in relief, she heard a creak.

Chills rippled down her spine as she whirled, ready to defend herself, but she didn’t get off a single shot before a pair of strong hands wrenched the gun from her grasp.

A child’s voice interrupted Myles’s sleep. Positive that he’d only gotten to bed a few minutes ago, he didn’t want to open his eyes, but when he did he saw a change in the color of night that indicated it’d been hours. He also saw a little boy’s face a few inches above his own.

“You awake yet, Sheriff King?”

He was now, not that he was very happy about it. “What time is it?” he croaked.

“Morning time.”

Looking for something a bit more specific, he rolled over to check his alarm clock, which confirmed his initial suspicion. It was barely five. Damn, when he’d told Vivian he wouldn’t mind if her children woke him early, he hadn’t been referring to predawn hours.

“Jake, buddy, I’m really tired.” He cleared his throat in an effort to speak in his normal voice. “You need to go back to bed, okay?”

No response.

“Okay?” Myles prodded.

The boy slouched onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”

He sounded so dejected that Myles had to ask, “Too late for what?”

“For the fish! They’ll go bad, won’t they?”

“What fish?” he asked. Then the memory of Vivian’s son asking him to gut some trout right before he took Vivian out last night helped him make sense of the boy’s words. He’d put Jake off, said he’d do it first thing in the morning. But he’d never dreamed he’d have to fulfill that promise before the crack of dawn.

“You think another hour’s going to make a difference?” he mumbled, burying his head beneath his pillow.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late. Aren’t you supposed to gut them right away?”

The answer to that question was yes. They would be inedible if it didn’t happen soon. And it was the boy’s first catch. Myles didn’t want to ruin that for him. He also felt a little guilty for procrastinating just because he’d hoped to get lucky with the kid’s mother and didn’t want to smell like fish guts. “That’s true. How many are there?”

“Three,” he said proudly.

“Not bad.” Myles pulled his head out from under the pillow. “And you put them…where, exactly?”

“In Nana’s cooler.”

“Which is…”

“On your back porch.”

Of course. He was all prepared. Myles had to drag his tired ass out of bed. He planned to, but when he didn’t move quickly enough, Jake leaned closer. “I’ll give you one if you help me. You could have it for dinner.”

That was just too damn cute. Myles couldn’t hold out any longer, no matter how reluctant he was to start his day after another short night. “Fine.” He motioned to the jeans he’d tossed over a chair. “Hand me my pants.”

Jake hurried to do as he asked. “How tall are you?” he asked as Myles climbed out of bed.

“Six-two.” He accepted his pants. “You?”

“Dunno,” he replied with a shrug.

“We can measure you when we go downstairs, if you want.”

The boy’s gaze slid around the room, over Myles’s gun, the uniform hanging from the open closet door, the electric razor Myles had left on the dresser, some outdoor magazines that passed the time when Myles got bored with the big-screen TV. Even the wallet and change on the nightstand seemed to interest him.

“I like your bedroom,” he said when he’d surveyed it all.

“You do?” Myles was tempted to laugh but didn’t want to embarrass the kid. He hadn’t really looked at his surroundings since he’d boxed up Amber Rose’s things and carried it all to the attic. She used to take great pride in their home, decorated every room, but he only cared about functional, not beauty. Especially now that she was gone. She’d taken the joy she’d brought to such activities with her. “What does your room look like?”

“It’s got some stupid football stuff painted on the walls.”

Myles felt his eyebrows go up. “Football’s cool, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. I love it. Every guy likes football, right?”

Guy? Myles stifled another laugh. Vivian’s son was something else.

“It’s just that it has bears with helmets, stuff like that,” he explained. “It’s for babies.”

And he definitely didn’t view himself as a baby. “I see. Maybe your mother will let you paint over it. Have you asked her?” He reached for a clean T-shirt. “I could help.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

He seemed hopeful for a few seconds, then his shoulders slumped. “I don’t think she’ll let us. She always tells me not to bother you. She says you’re too busy. Even if you tell her you’re not, I don’t know if she’ll believe you. And she says paint costs money.”

Sidestepping Vivian’s reluctance to include him, he tackled the money issue instead. “It can get expensive with all the rollers and stuff.”

“Yeah, it’s just…I hate those bears.” He edged closer to the dresser. “But I probably wouldn’t care about them if I had a TV like this.”

The kid was nine going on nineteen; he wanted to be a grown man more than any boy Myles had ever known. What was his hurry? Was it that he felt he had to take his father’s place? “Maybe you’ll be able to get one when you’re older,” he said, digging his shoes out from under the bed.

“How tall do you think I’ll be when I’m all grown up?”

“Hard to guess.” Myles sat down so he could tie his laces. “Are you big for your age?”

“Not really.” He seemed disappointed.

“Well, everyone grows at a different rate. And you don’t have to be big to be tough.”

“Football players are big.”

“Fishermen don’t have to be.”

He seemed to consider this. “I guess that’s true. Hunters don’t have to be big, either.”

“No. Anyway, you should be plenty tall. Your mother’s got some height.”

“So does my uncle Virgil. He’s huge!”

Myles froze while picking up the Swiss Army knife he’d left on the nightstand. “Virgil? Is that your mother’s brother or your father’s brother?”

“My mother’s.” He pointed at what Myles was holding. “Is that a knife?”

“With a few tools attached. Want to see it?”

“Sure!”

Hoping it would preoccupy the boy enough that he could learn a bit more about this Virgil person, Myles handed it over. “So where does your uncle live?”

“My mom hasn’t told me.” He held up some needle-nose pliers. “What do these do?”

Myles showed him how they worked. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Uncle Virgil?”

“Yeah.”

Jake hesitated. “A long time.”

“You don’t have any contact with him?”

“No.”

“Look, here’s a little screwdriver.” Myles pulled that out to show him.

“Cool!”

“What about your father?”

Enthralled with the small pair of scissors he’d discovered, Jake didn’t seem to be listening. “Can I have one of these someday?”

“We can certainly suggest it to your mother. Or maybe your father. Do you ever see him?”

Instantly wary, Jake looked up and Myles tried to mask his eagerness to hear the answer. He had to act as if this discussion was no big deal, as if he was just passing the time, or the boy would clam up. “No. He never gives me anything. He doesn’t even call.”

The heartbreak in those words hit Myles like a right hook, made him realize how much Vivian had been coping with. “Where does he live?”

“Don’t know, or I’d go see him.” He kept opening various tools on the knife.

“How long has it been?”

“Since before I saw Uncle Virgil.”

Myles helped Jake close a serrated blade. “Why’s that?”

He returned the Swiss Army knife. “I guess he doesn’t love me anymore.”

His response showed how badly he missed his father, which was sad. Had Vivian’s ex been as abusive with the children as he’d been with her? If not, why weren’t they allowed to see him? Was she that scared of him?

From all indications, she was. But what was that business about someone being shot that he’d heard from Chrissy? “Are you named after your father, Jake?”

He scuffed one sneaker against the other. “Sort of.”

“How can you be ‘sort of’ named after someone?”

“My dad’s name is Jacob. But everyone calls him Tom,” he said without lifting his head.

This was the first time the boy had shared the smallest detail about his father. Myles had tossed out a few questions in the past, but they’d met with monosyllabic answers, or shrugs where monosyllabic answers weren’t possible. “So your dad’s name was Jacob Thomas Stewart?”

Jake glanced at the door. “You ready?”

The question had made him uncomfortable; Myles had pushed too hard. “I just need to brush my teeth.”

“Okay.” He headed toward the hall. “I’ll wait on the porch.”

Myles muttered a silent curse as he watched the boy go. He’d been so close to a full name. It couldn’t be Stewart. Vivian wouldn’t be able to hide very easily if she’d kept her ex-husband’s name. And Stewart didn’t match the initials on her arm. Myles had merely been hoping Jake would correct him.

At least he knew more than he did before. Vivian had an uncle who was in prison, an ex named Jacob Thomas or Tom H, and a brother named Virgil—not a very common name. She also had a gun that might have a serial number he could trace. And since he’d caught her carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, he had the legal right to do it.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.

Besides all that, thanks to the ungodly hour, he’d have a bit more time with Jake. Who knew what the kid might say? Especially with a few more carefully constructed questions…