Falling Like Snowflakes (19 page)

“That's not her name. That's why I called. I asked her directly today, and she didn't answer. Then I just got on the computer. She's trying to buy a fake ID.”

“Your gut was right then.”

“She also looked up an article about some alleged criminal with ties to the prescription drug market. Apparently his case has gone to trial.”

“What's his name?”

“Lucca Fattore. But I'm going to have Sheriff Colton look into that. He has connections. I couldn't find much online.”

He remembered the way Kate tensed up every time he suggested outside help and vowed to make sure Colton kept it on the down low.

“Any chance you found her real name?”

“Nope. Just that she was trying to figure out how to get false documents.”

“Maybe you can finesse some info from her kid? Did I just say that?” He heard the wince in her voice.

“Believe me, it already crossed my mind. But Jack is mute, or at least he has been for a while. Like I said, the two of them have been through hell and back.”

“Sounds like it. Well, if there's anything else I can do, say the word.”

“Will do.”

Abby put Ryan on the phone, and the two of them caught up before Beau rang off a few minutes later.

His eyes flashed back to the screen. Back to the photo of a man who was somehow connected to Kate. He had cold eyes and deep marionette lines that marched down to his flattened lips. He wasn't a man Beau would want to meet in a dark alley—not unarmed.

He looked to be in his sixties—too old to be a love interest—with weathered olive skin and brown eyes. Her father? Grandfather? He supposed he could see a resemblance to Jack, and Kate also had brown eyes. Perhaps they were related. How else would she have ever gotten connected with a man like Lucca Fattore?

The next afternoon found Eden and Micah alone at the house, playing Jenga at the kitchen table. She'd gone to church with the Callahans. It had been wonderful to worship with fellow believers again.

Pastor Daniels had preached on the husband's role in marriage. Eden had cringed when she saw the sermon title in the bulletin. But Pastor Daniels had different ideas from Antonio's. The Bible said the husband was supposed to love his wife as Christ loved the church—that he was supposed to be willing to die for her. The pastor went into great detail about that.

Antonio had never mentioned that scripture, and he'd sure never demonstrated it. The sermon gave her a lot of food for thought.

The chapel was smaller and friendlier than her former
church, which made it harder to maintain a distance from people. But she had to. It would do no good to get close to anyone and could cause plenty of harm if the wrong words slipped.

Especially to the Callahans. Beau's image came to mind, her heart going soft as she remembered his tender care with Micah yesterday. She had to be more careful. She wasn't here to build relationships. This was only a stopping point. A resting place before they continued on the last leg of their journey to Loon Lake. Sure, they could be just as safe in Summer Harbor with new identities. But she longed for the place she'd yearned to escape to as a child. She longed for true freedom.

The notion seemed almost too good to be true.

The family had invited them to the Roadhouse for the Patriots game, but after hearing Micah's request to Santa, Eden knew she needed to talk to her son. She'd also wanted to call her dad while he was still at church, which she'd done as soon as Beau's truck had pulled away.

The block tower wobbled as Micah drew one from the bottom.

“Uh-oh . . .,” she said.

The tower stilled, and he smiled up at her in victory.

“You're a lucky boy.” She reached for a loose block. “Did you have fun yesterday at the festival?”

He nodded, watching her pull the block.

He hadn't said anything since he'd sat on Santa's lap. Eden wished she had a psychology degree. She wasn't sure whether to ignore yesterday's milestone or make a big deal of it. But instinct told her not to rush him.

“I did too. I liked the Needhams.” Eden had been skeptical when Beau had told her the traditional Maine sweet contained potatoes. But it tasted much like a Mounds bar.

Micah's eyes narrowed on the block he was pulling. His tongue peeked out as he focused.

“Good job,” she said when he'd successfully removed the block. “You're good at this game.”

His eyes swung to hers, a glint of amusement there.

“Yes, I know you're still winning our secret game too.” She'd failed to respond when someone had called her name at church this morning. “But we were tied until this morning.”

He'd done remarkably well with switching identities. The game helped, but he was starting to talk now. What would happen if he let something slip to the wrong person? She'd need to talk to him about that, but first things first.

“Jack . . . I know you miss home. Your friends and the house and your own bed. But you know we can't go back there . . . right?”

His eyes met hers, sobering. She hated that she'd dimmed the light flickering there, but neither could she let him live in a fantasy that would only end in disappointment.

“I'm so sorry you're sad about that. I want more than anything for things to be different.” She set her hand on his. “But when Daddy died, it changed everything. I know you don't understand exactly what's going on, but we had to leave to stay safe. And it's not safe to go back home.”

His eyes glossed over, fat tears gathering on his thick, dark lashes. “Oh, baby, come here.” She scooped him up and held him on her lap. “We're going to be okay. We'll make a new home. It'll be different, but we'll be safe and happy again, and you'll make new friends.”

He pushed his nose into the cradle of her neck and shoulder. “Daddy.” His vocal cords rasped with disuse.

She hugged him tighter, her chest tightening at the word. The
murder of his father must seem like a horrible nightmare. She swallowed against the knot lodged in her throat.

“I know you miss him. I'm sorry you're hurting, kiddo. It's not fair. But I'm going to make it better. I promise. It'll just take a little time. Okay?”

He didn't respond, vocally or otherwise.

“In the meantime, we'll just try and enjoy our time here. You like the ocean, right? And the Callahans are nice. Miss Trudy's a little gruff, but I think she has a soft spot for you. We've gotten to do some pretty cool things while we've been here. We've even made some friends.”

“Beau.”

She smiled against the top of his head. “Yes, Beau is our friend.”

She wondered if they were both becoming too attached to the people of Summer Harbor and if leaving was only going to bring them more pain.

Chapter 20

E
den bolted upright in bed. The mattress springs squeaked beneath her. Her heart thudded, her ears tuned to hear the noise again. Micah's quiet breaths from the air mattress beside her filled the darkness.

A moment passed, then she heard footfalls on the steps. Riley's familiar pattern, heavy and slow, always hitting the creak on the fifth tread. She slowly sank back onto her pillow, adrenaline racing through her veins.

Seconds later the door next to hers clicked shut. She worked to steady her heart, but her body wasn't cooperating. It was remembering the last time she'd been awakened from a dead sleep. The last time she'd let the illusion of safety lull her into complacency.

Eden didn't know what had awakened her that night. But then she hadn't known much of anything for months, ever since they'd arrived. Where they were going . . . how long they'd be there . . . or even what their names would be after Micah testified and they
entered the WitSec program. All she knew was they were at a safe house somewhere in Tampa.

She sat up in the double bed, her eyes roaming over Micah's sleeping form. She laid a hand on his back, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his torso. He was her baby. The only thing that mattered in this world, and she wouldn't let anything happen to him.

A
clank
sounded in the living room, where Walter tended to fall asleep on the couch. He'd probably knocked over that tin of fake flowers again. For a US Marshal he wasn't especially graceful. But then he was getting up in age, almost ready to retire.

When they'd had nothing else to count on, though, nothing standing between them and danger, he'd been there, rock solid, he and Marshal Brown both. She was glad they had extra help now. Marshal Langley had been sent in anticipation of their departure. He'd arrived yesterday, filling the safe house with the odor of cigarette smoke and the scent of the cloves he sucked on. They would return to Miami soon for the trial, and such a move called for higher security. She was nervous about going back.

Eden shuddered at the thought of Micah facing her husband's murderer in court. But Micah's word would buy their freedom. It would also avenge his father's death, putting behind bars a man who'd long been sought by the DEA for his role in the prescription drug black market.

A market that her husband had been neck-deep
in. After his murder, she'd been interrogated until she'd been ready to crack. For weeks they hadn't believed her innocent of her husband's activities. The worst of it had been her separation from Micah when he needed her most.

And now the trial was almost upon them, just a few days away. As much as she dreaded the trial, she looked forward to the end of this ordeal. They were so close to freedom she could almost taste it.

She checked the clock. A little after one.

Another noise, more of a
thwack
, sounded from the other end of the house, then low voices. Angry voices. Eden sprang upright, slipped soundlessly to the floor, and crept to the doorway. She peeked through the wedge of light.

Her heart stopped at the sight. Langley held Walter in a headlock. Then her eyes fell to the floor where Marshal Brown's body lay in a heap, his blank eyes still open.

“Morris will have your head,” Walter squeezed out.

“Who do you think brought me in, you moron?”

Walter was fighting hard, spewing words she couldn't make out.

Langley reached for something in his pocket. “She's already dead,” he said quietly. “They both are. She just doesn't know it.”

“Never,” Walter squeezed out, his elbow jutting back, catching Langley in the gut.

The metal of a blade caught the light. But before Eden could open her mouth, the sharp end sliced
across Walter's throat. A trail of blood followed behind.

Her hand covered her mouth, catching the whimper before it was released.

Micah! She had to get him out of here.

She eased the door closed, twisting the lock. She prayed Langley intended to wait until morning to make good on his threats.

Working quietly, she grabbed the emergency book bag that had been packed for weeks. Her legs shook as she collected Micah and Boo Bear, grateful he slept so soundly. She unlocked the window and eased it open. Her heart was like a jackhammer in her ears.

Please, God! Please, please, please.

The bag got hung up on the curtains, wasting precious time. Finally freeing it, she dropped it to the ground.

Was that a noise in the hallway?

Fear propelled her through the window with Micah. She fell as she landed, jostling him so much she couldn't believe he still slept. She grabbed the bag, adjusting his weight, and ran, hooking the bag on her shoulder. Cold sticks and rocks cut into her bare feet as she ran toward the darkened woods behind the house. If she could reach the trees before he discovered they were missing, maybe they'd have a chance.

Help us, God!

A light came on behind her, and her footsteps quickened. Almost to the woods. Almost. A gunshot
rang out in the night. Eden yelped, sheltering Micah against her shoulder.

Her son whimpered.

They reached the woods, the darkness, and she darted through the trees. “It's okay, baby.”

Please, God!

She went deeper into the woods, thankful that the moon and stars weren't out. She ran into trees, scraped her arm against a bush. If she couldn't see, then neither could Langley.

Langley. Why had she trusted him? When would she learn? She'd gotten black and red vibes from the very first meeting. But he was a US Marshal, and Walter had trusted him.

Walter
. She could still hear the scrape of the blade against his throat. The gurgle that followed. The back of her eyes burned.

Stop it
.
Don't think about it now
.

She headed northwest, knowing the woods went on forever in that direction. A creek meandered down the middle of it. They'd need water eventually.

She stopped a moment, listening. Catching her breath. Nothing. Only a few crickets and the wind, making the trees creak overhead. How long had she been running? Twenty minutes? Thirty? Now that she'd stopped she felt the burn of her calves, the raw pain on the soles of her feet. Her aching arms.