Liberty or Death (26 page)

Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe it was just another driver like me, feeling the pleasure of the road and a big engine and no one else around. Except that there was someone else around. Me. I decided to test my theory on the next straightaway. I remembered one just over the crest of the next hill. Sure enough, there it was. Instead of putting the pedal to the metal and taking advantage of it, I slowed down. If the car behind me was out to have some fun, he'd go flying past and sayonara, buddy. If not, then I could start to get nervous. He didn't pass but stayed on my tail like an insecure friend or a baby duck. Tonight I wasn't in the mood for either one.

If he wasn't going to take advantage of the moment, I would. UB40 was playing "Red Red Wine." I stepped on it and felt the amazing power under the hood respond. This car was like a plain girl with a great personality. Or maybe it was a plain guy. No sense in being sexist here. Indeed, it being Dom Florio's car, I had come to think of it as a guy. I thought its name was probably something like Fred. We neared the end of the straight stretch going about ninety, and Fred slewed slightly as I braked and shifted down, accelerated through the curve, and took off again. My baby duck didn't do quite as well, but then, he might not have had the advantage of a racing short-course like I had.

Fred was more troublesome on the next curve but he seemed to like it, and by now I'd opened myself up a rather nice lead.

If I could keep it up, I knew that about half a mile ahead there was a road going off to the right that would also take me where I was going. I needed to put enough distance between us to make the turn without being seen. But the road was now a series of curves and, having had only the short-course, I was driving at the limit of my ability. I peered anxiously ahead for the turn. There it was.

I braked, shifted down, took my foot off the brake, and spun the wheel. I almost did a 180, but managed to hold Fred to the course. As soon as I had slowed enough, I cut the lights and pulled over to the side, watching my mirror nervously. Seconds later, I saw a pair of headlights flash by. I'd almost begun to breathe again when I saw taillights backing up, and the car turned down the road I'd taken.

Cursing, I edged the gun out of my purse and waited. Maybe it was just a cop, coming back to give me a ticket for driving like a maniac. Not bloody likely, but a gal can hope. Nope. Not too many cops I know drive battered, red pickup trucks. The state cops have got some nifty trucks. But they aren't red and they aren't battered. Two men got out. They were illuminated briefly by the cab light but I only had an impression of bearded and capped heads before the doors shut and they began moving toward me.

Their truck was about a hundred feet behind me. I waited until they were right beside my car, a dangerous gamble, given that they might be carrying guns, but then, this whole situation was a gamble. My being in town was a gamble. My whole life right now was a gamble. But I was willing to gamble a lot for Andre. Always have been, poor besotted woman that I am. Besides, if they had guns, I was better off as a moving target. As soon as they were beside me, I turned the engine on and gunned it, roaring out of there, throwing up gravel, my tires spinning on the pavement, driving like a teenager in heat.

This time I had a better head start. They had to run all the way back to their truck. I drove way too fast for an unfamiliar road, an unfamiliar car, too fast for common sense. Several heart-stopping, stomach-churning seconds later, I found the turn I wanted, took it, and shut off my lights, proceeding along the rough dirt road in the darkness, amazed at how complete it seemed. Not far along, I came to a big barn looming beside the road, a darker shadow in the darkness, sitting next to the cellar-hole of a burned-down house. I eased off the road onto a bumpy, unused driveway, hoping I didn't meet an enormous pothole or something worse.

I parked Fred behind the barn, switched off the interior lights, and got out. I was winded and my legs were shaky but it didn't feel bad. It felt vaguely intoxicating. Or I felt slightly intoxicated. Sometimes I worry about my reckless side and having all of this go to my head. People can become adventure junkies, developing a need for bigger challenges and greater dangers. I'm trying to go in the other direction. People close to me have suggested that I'm suffering from PTSD and ought to get treatment. I'm a big believer in self-help but sometimes I wonder if they're right. Sometimes I do get a charge when I succeed in doing something people don't want me to do, when I keep the bad guys from winning. It's not something girls—or women, for that matter—are supposed to enjoy.

I waited near the edge of the barn where I could see the road but duck back if necessary. Waited for an eternity, scarcely breathing, feeding about a pint of my blood to the whining mosquitoes. Waited with itching welts rising on my bare arms and legs, with a savage ache in my back. Longing to lie down and rest. Waited and watched. Finally something came rattling down the road, moving slowly. As it passed, I could see that it was a truck. I watched the red taillights bounce away and disappear into the night. I waited again to see if they came back. The road wasn't very long. If they didn't find me—which they wouldn't—I wondered if they'd come back or give up and go home. About the time I was getting faint from blood loss and my legs were trembling almost uncontrollably, they came rattling back up the road, passed the barn without stopping, and were gone.

I waited until I couldn't hear them any longer, then climbed back into Fred and headed off in the other direction. I drove with a constant eye on the rearview mirror but I reached the main road and turned right without seeing another car. Four miles down, I turned off onto the side road that took me to the dilapidated ranch. There was a police car already parked in the garage, and three men standing around looking anxious.

Jack Leonard looked at his watch as I climbed out of the car, gave me a quick cop up and down, and looked back at his watch. He didn't look pleased with what he saw. "You're late."

I gave him my own up and down back. He looked like hell, too. Haggard and exhausted and jittery. A lean, handsome man who right now looked extremely hard used. "Sorry. I was followed."

"What?" The word exploded in the crowded space. "Thea, I told you to be careful."

"I was. I lost them."

"Them?"

"Two men in a battered red pickup truck. You want the license number?" I rattled it off and the new guy went to run a check.

But Jack was on a protective tear. "Lost them how?"

"By driving like a bat out of hell." I patted the side of the rustmobile. "This baby may not look like much, but it can move."

"Thea..." Jack sighed, and I was instantly ashamed of myself. He had enough to worry about without me being a deliberate pain in the ass just because my adrenaline was up and I'd had a crazy twenty-four hours. More than enough. This situation was a cop's worst nightmare. "I want you out of there."

"I want me out of there, too," I agreed. "Just not yet. I'm in the right place, Jack. I'm beginning to find things out. People are starting to talk to me. I'm sure that if I stay a little longer, I can find out something useful..."

"Thea..." He sighed again, and looked at Roland and the other guy. "You've got people following you. Why do you suppose that is? You stay a little longer and you may become another person we're looking for. This isn't some kind of a game, you know."

"Jack, I'm the one who was left standing at the altar, remember? I'm the one in the beautiful white dress with two hundred puzzled guests, a swarm of dainty bridesmaids, and my mother having a major fit. I'm the one who hasn't taken an easy breath in days. I'm the one who thinks about Andre night and day, wondering if he's hurt or hungry or cold or hot, feeling my own frustrated desperation and knowing his is so much greater. I'm the one who wonders if his child is ever going to get to see him. Of course I know this isn't a game. I couldn't be more serious."

But Jack Leonard wasn't listening. He was staring at my waistline, a kind of stunned expression on his face. "You're pregnant?" I nodded. "Now we really do have to get you out of here."

"I was almost as pregnant when we got me in here." I leaned back from the waist, trying to ease the ache, and wondered if this dizziness I felt was just from the adrenaline rush. I felt odd—intensely here and somehow not quite here at all. My mind kept flashing back to what I'd just seen.

"Oh, Jesus, Thea, use some common sense, will you? It's bad enough worrying about Andre and then worrying about you. But risking his child? You can't ask me to do that."

"I'm not asking you to do anything except find him, Jack. That's all any of us want. Now, do you want to hear what I have to say, or have I driven down here at breakneck speed with two maniacs on my tail just to listen to a lecture on how I ought to be more careful? I'm being as careful as I can. Nothing matters, don't you see, if..." Oh me. Tough-as-nails Kozak. I couldn't say it. I tried again. "If..." My throat closed. I massaged my neck as though that might make a difference. Squeezed out, "We're all on the same side here, Jack. We've got one goal. Don't..." I took a breath. Why was this so hard? "Don't shut me out." The cramps were worse now; I really needed a bathroom. The house didn't look like much, but it probably had one.

"I'm just trying to keep you safe," he said. "He'll expect me... us... all of us... to look after you."

"He knows who I am. He knows what I'm like. He won't be expecting me to sit by the phone."

"He says you're never there to take his calls anyway," Proffit said. Trying to defuse the situation, to get me and Jack out of each other's faces. Futile effort.

I took a step back and so did Jack. I didn't mean to be so difficult. Jack and I have always had this odd chemistry—like baking soda and vinegar. Put us together and things start fizzling. "And he's never there to take mine. But we've stopped keeping score. Okay, here's the Kozak report. Make of it what you will. At lunch the other day, some old guys were talking about Andre, and one of them suggested that the ideal place to hide him would be in someone's survival shelter. It sounds like there are a lot of those around here. Big survivalist movement. I'm trying to find out where they are..."

"Then later... and I don't expect this means anything... but I've decided not to dismiss anything... one of these guys asked me where I thought they were keeping him..."Jack stiffened. "Not because they suspected me, Jack, just because everybody's talking about it. So I said, 'In the basement of that church down on the corner' and he nearly went ballistic. Why would he do that?"

"Because you insulted his church?"

I shook my head. "Because they hold their militia meetings in the church basement. There was one there two nights ago, sometime after midnight."

"How do you know?"

"Because I was watching through the window."

Jack balled up his hands into fists, took a deep breath, and uncurled them again. "Jesus, Thea, you what?" He was inches away from snatching me bodily and taking me somewhere he could lock me in Rapunzel's tower until this was over.

"Not on purpose, Jack. I'm being careful... I was out walking. I noticed the lights."

"You were out walking in the middle of the night?"

"I thought it was a peaceful small town. I couldn't sleep. I kept having nightmares." I gave up trying to explain. I was trying to be cooperative but I hated baring my soul like this. I like to keep my dark secrets to myself. "I'm a big girl, Jack..."

"You're a crazy woman, Thea. I just hope nobody saw you."

"Well, abandon hope, Jack." I turned to Roland Proffit. "That guy who gave the speech tonight? The one up on the chair? He's the minister of that church. The Reverend Stuart Hannon. After he heard I'd taken Lyle Harding down to the jail to visit his father, he sent a couple of lackeys to bring me in for a chat."

Jack looked like he was about to go ballistic. Maybe this wasn't the moment to mention the list of license plates? The third trooper cleared his throat. "I've got the owner of that truck," he said. He stuck out a hand, seized mine, and gave me a firm handshake. "Patrick Dunne," he said. "I'm a great admirer of your husband... uh... fiancé."

My throat closed again. I forced words through it. "Thanks. So who was chasing me?"

"Truck's registered to a James McGrath."

Jimmy. Theresa's son. The one who sent her messages through Roy Belcher. The one who wanted her truck. But why on earth would he be following me?

"Anyone you know?"

I shrugged. "Theresa McGrath has a son. They call him Jimmy. But I've never met him. I think maybe they don't get along. He sends her messages through other people. I didn't recognize either of the two guys who were in the truck. Neither of them looked anything like Theresa, but that doesn't mean anything. I think they were probably more of Hannon's goons."

Jack shook his head. He looked like a man in terrible pain. "You think. You think. You crash a militia meeting. One of the head militia guys sends for you to have a little talk about why you're cozying up to Jed Harding. Guys are chasing you around in the middle of the night in trucks and you aren't worried? These are guys who collect weapons, read manuals on how to blow up government buildings, and believe that a woman's place is in the home without the right to vote. Get real, Thea. Paranoid gun nuts willing to get involved in high-speed chases aren't something to take lightly." He was working one balled-up fist into the palm of the other hand and all but foaming at the mouth.

"You're right. They said they'd be watching me and I guess this means they were."

"You guess? Of course it means... Thea, use your common sense."

But I wasn't done with the Kozak report, which I wanted to finish before I fell over. After all, I still had to drive back. Hopefully, a less stressful ride than the one getting here. "When I took Lyle Harding down to visit his father..." I swallowed. The air in here was so charged it didn't feel like I was getting any oxygen. I couldn't let him get me thinking about how crazy these people were, or how dangerous, or I'd stop breathing. Become totally useless. If I wasn't already. Didn't he know I
wanted
to run away?