Betrayals of the Heart (18 page)

There are moments in life that rip deep gouges in your soul, unimaginable wounds left to fester and grow, fed only by one’s past experiences and nightmares. This was one of those moments.

Ryan tucked his gun back into its holster in a trance, fighting to keep the haunting memories away. The “what if’s” were stronger now, the threat of losing Makayla and Nicholas intensifying close to a festering frenzy. So many years had passed. So many gut wrenching emotions locked away deep down inside. How could this happen again?

Gritting his teeth till his jaw ached, he hurried to clear the fallen trunk and other scattered debris so he could assess the scene himself. Time was slipping away with the light.

“Can you tell how long?” Michael asked after several moments of intense silence.

“There are four sets of prints. Your mom’s, Nicholas’ and two men. By the look of the half eating granola bar and cold drink box, we just missed them.”

Ryan fought with his emotions to understand what the evidence before him meant. They were alive. Or at least they had been before they left. But the footprints were strange. Two sets, adult size, one larger than the other, lay at the back of the opening. They clearly belonged to Makayla and a very large man by the size fifteen-foot print embedded in the soft dirt. Then there were two other sets smack dab in the middle of the clearing near the leftover food.

These two triggered more uneasiness. One belonged to a man, the other to a child. His child. Makayla had fought hard, the drag marks in the dirt proof of a struggle. But the other two sets of prints, the large ones and the tiny ones he knew so well, had left side by side.

Could it be?

A talk he’d had with Nicholas several times over the past few years filtered through his mind. The conversation, telling a child how to react during a hostage situation, had felt awkward, so Ryan made it out to be a game. With the fear Steven would find them someday lingering in the back of his mind, he’d had no choice but to try and prepare his sons.

Ryan followed the set of prints belonging to Nicholas. They lead to a hole at the back of the shrubs. A man-made hole. One probably cut with some kind of large tool or knife. His gut churned out a nasty warning.

This is where Steven and his goon entered, found Makayla and Nicholas, and then left with part of Ryan’s entire world.

He bent down to look at the footprints closer, forcing the uneasiness to recede and discovered a curious piece of evidence. Scanning further along the opening, he found another, and another and another. Yes. There could be no other explanation.

Lifting his eyes to the sky, he silently said a prayer of thanks. Nicholas had been listening after all. This young boy intended to lead his father to them exactly as Ryan instructed in the game.

“What? Did you find something?” Michael asked, stepping up behind Ryan to peer over his shoulder.

“Clues. Your brother is leaving us clues.” He turned his head and smiled up at Michael.

“Clues?” Michael brows furrowed in the center of his forehead, one raised perplexed.

“Look. This is a piece of his granola bar,” Ryan said lifting a tiny block for Michael’s inspection.

“And this crumb is a clue because…?” Michael’s voice revealed concern for his stepfather’s mental state. “Nick’s not the neatest eater.”

Ryan ignored him. “And here’s another. And another,” he said as he stood and walked forward into the shrubs, his eyes carefully searching as he shuffled his feet through the leaves and broken branches.

His young son appeared to be following his instructions to a tee.

When Ryan found tiny pieces of the wrapper on the other side of the shrub line, leading a clear path toward the fence, he turned to Michael. “Now do you believe me?”

Michael’s mouth fell open. “You’re telling me, Nicholas did this on purpose?”

“Oh, yes. Let’s get going. There’ll be more.”

Ryan slipped through the opening in the fence where several of the rotting boards had been removed and hurried to the dirt road, with Michael close behind. Fresh tire tracks. More of those damn drag marks. And lots of tiny footprints.

“I’m thinking Steven and Nicholas are riding in the backseat. Makayla’s in the front with the driver. Probably restrained.”

Michael’s brow lifted. “You can figure all that out just by looking at their footprints?”

“I’m guessing about the placement, but certain they all got into the same car.”

“Look. There’s more.” Michael inched forward to get a better look.

“Wait.” Ryan quickly halted his progress with his hands. “That’s far enough. Stay on the grass. We don’t want to disturb any evidence. The less footprints, the better.”

“Right there. Do you see it?” Michael squinted against the dimming light, his focus on the ground a few feet from Ryan.

Clarity hit.

“It’s a freaking arrow, Ryan.”

“Sure is. Nicholas has shown us the direction they were headed.” Heart pounding, he reached for his phone, remembering at the last minute it was broken. “Damn.”

“Man, I’m not believing this. When did he learn all this, Dad?”

“I’ve been coaching him for some time.” He paused and met Michael’s gaze. “I did the same with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ryan took a deep breath, searching the area. Where was the FBI? Every second that passed, put his loved ones in more danger.

“I taught you a version of this game when you were littler too.” He watched Michael’s eyes, knew he was trying hard to remember. “This mess is the reason I taught you to ride the motorcycle so young. I always worried this day would come.” Pain etched the tone of Ryan’s words. Damn these emotions. He needed to be strong for Nicholas and Makayla as well as Michael. The difficult part was knowing what Steven was made of. Ryan knew the psychopath better than anyone ever cared to.

A deep anguished laugh erupted before he could stop it. He pictured Steven’s face when all this ended. Steven would be trying to figure out how everything fell apart for years as he sat behind the bars of his jail cell. That is, if Ryan decided to let the bastard live.

The sound of heavy footsteps and rustling branches enveloped them as Agent Harrington and the others converged on the spot.

“Finally. Where the hell have you been?”

“Right behind you.” Harrington walked up and patted Ryan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ryan. We’ll get a visual on Steven’s vehicle by helicopter. If my hunch is right, they’re headed due west.”

Ryan passed a knowing look at Michael. His suspicions would be confirmed soon.

“Back home. To California.” Michael’s words hit Ryan like a ton of bricks. Ryan knew exactly what Steven’s plans were. The coward wanted to take Makayla and Nicholas back to his territory where he had the men and resources to hold off an army for eternity. If he made it, Makayla and his son’s chances would be slim to none.

“We can’t let that happen. We have to stop him,” Michael said. Painful memories flashed in his eyes.

“He won’t make it.” Ryan turned and gave him a quick bear hug. “I promise.”

After sharing with the FBI what he’d discovered in the clearing, Ryan rejoined Harrington on the dirt road. “I need a cell phone.” Nicholas would sabotage every step Steven tried to take. Ryan planned to be ready and waiting for the clues.

“I have an extra one in the car.” Agent Harrington motioned for an agent to retrieve it.

Once the phone was in his hands, Ryan commenced making calls. McCoy confirmed that road blocks, surveillance, and authorities in every state from Florida to California had been alerted and were now on standby. Well, what do you know? Looked like the FBI was finally on top of the situation.

Steven was good. But Ryan had the upper hand this time, had a little man working on the inside. A proud smile gravitated to his lips as he wrapped his arm around Michael.

“We’re going to find them,” he whispered.

Makayla’s wrists hurt, not to mention her face.

She eyed her cramp surroundings in a foggy, drug like state. A dashboard. Leather seats. Dark tinted windows. The heavy smell of a familiar aftershave mixed with sweat and torturous memories turned her stomach.

Several more minutes passed before her brain functions returned to normal and the reality of what happened registered. Man, Ricky hit hard. Why did they always have to strike across the jawbone? She moved her mouth, grimacing at the pain the effort caused. At least nothing felt broken. This time.

Panic rushed over her as she recounted her steps. Where was Nicholas?

Her jog to the park had been uneventful. She’d been careful. Thought she’d made it without being followed. The bench sitting at the back of the park had a clear view of the entire area. And she’d watched. Waited. For nearly fifteen minutes, she’d surveyed every inch of the park and playground, every entrance for signs of Steven. Only then did she make her way to Nicholas’ hiding place.

There her son lay, balled up in a fetal position peacefully sleeping.

“Nicholas!” Her heart wanted to explode.

Sleepy eyes turned tearful as he focused on her. But she was at his side before he could call her name.

“Oh, honey, are you all right?” She stroked his damp hair away from his dirt streaked cheeks. “Did that awful man hurt you?”

Nicholas smiled slyly. “I tricked him, Mommy. I tricked them all. I told them I had to go potty.” Then his little eyes turned serious. “Are you mad at me?”

“No. For what, sweetheart?”

“I went to my hiding spot without telling you.” A single tear rolled down his check. All this time he’d been alone and worrying that she would be mad.

“No. No, Nicholas. You did good. Real good, sweetheart. Mommy’s not mad. I’m so proud of you.”

His entire face lit up when he smiled back at her. “I’m hungry.”

Those very words were what started this whole mess. She would never understand how this little man’s metabolism worked. But if she’d fed him instead of worrying about the call, maybe her son wouldn’t have had to suffer like this. Grabbing the granola bar and drink box she’d smuggled into the bedroom with her when no one was looking, she fed her son.

That’s when the devil himself appeared before her.

“Steven!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. He’d walked through the thick shrubs separating the back of the park from the dirt farm road like a ghost through a wall.

“Myka,” he purred. “It’s so good to see you, my pet.” Those beady eyes stared at her, drilled hot piercing holes down to her soul.

Makayla pulled Nicholas to his feet as she stood and shoved him behind her. “Leave the boy alone. It’s me you want. I’m the one who disobeyed you, not him.”

“Fine young man you have there. Reminds me of my son.” The words scraped the back of his throat as they slipped out in a rough tone. So much bitterness, so much loathing it turned her stomach.

“But this is not your son, Steven.” She knew her mistake the minute the words slipped, but it was too late.

“That’s right. He’s not. But you. You are still my wife. So what does that make him?” He shook his head. “How could you, Myka?”

A flash of courage sparked through her. She’d grown up since they’d last tangoed, and he was about to see a different side of his precious Myka. “Your wife? Is that right?”

Steven’s brow furrowed into a challenging frown. “You dare question me?” She could feel the anger radiating from deep within him and every fiber of her being wanted to bolt.

“Oh, no, Steven. I would never question you.” She glared back at him, her fury over all his deceptions building strength within her. “I’m calling you a liar.”

The air stood still. She heard Steven’s next breath catch at the back of his throat. Well, she’d done it now. He’d show her no mercy.

Just breathe,
she reminded herself
.

His silence was almost as bad as any of his beatings. He closed his lids and his eyes bounced around in their sockets. Then, flew open and locked her in a deadly gaze.

She forced herself not to jump.

“Do you think your impudence is smart considering your predicament?”

“Might be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.” With every barbed word, she felt her confidence grow. “How could you lie about our marriage, Steven?” She managed to get the words out, but her tone wavered. And he smiled as he sensed her fear.
Damn.
Why couldn’t she control her emotions?

“I’m going to let your little slip slide. After all, you’ve been through a lot, Myka. It’s been a long time. And this unfortunate separation has changed me too.”

At his attempt to be civil, Makayla scoffed. The only good change he’d ever make would be dying a slow and painful death. Then she might forgive him.

“Let my son go and I’ll do whatever you want.”

***

Steven’s eyes drifted to the boy she tried to hide behind her. Instead of a frightened five- year-old, he found a brave solider standing with his arms crossed against his small chest, his bright eyes drilling back at him. Light colored eyes like this were not familiar to Steven’s family. He’d heard of them. Of how they brought luck and fortune to others. He certainly could use a bit of good luck. “Now what do we have here, Makayla? Are you sure he belongs to you?”