Читать книгу Family In Hiding - Valerie Hansen - Страница 13

FOUR

By the time the paramedics had finished bandaging Dylan and had given him an injection of antibiotics, his arm was truly throbbing. It had occurred to him to wonder why it hadn’t hurt when he’d first felt the bullet’s impact. The ambulance attendants had explained that the initial shock had temporarily deadened the area.

They fashioned a sling, passed a prescription to one of the marshals and had him sign a release before they packed up and left.

Inside the black van, plans were in the making. He sat back and listened as best he could while battling the distraction posed by his pulsing arm. He’d put on a brave front for his wife and children but was rapidly approaching the moment when he was either going to have to take a pill or lie down. Or both.

He shifted his position, hoping to find relief. Instead, a stab of intense pain made him wince. And, of all people, Grace noticed.

She stared and scowled. “I thought that was just a flesh wound.”

“Still hurts,” Dylan admitted. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not how it looks to me,” Grace said, transferring her attention to Marshal Serena Summers. “Can’t you give him something for it?”

“We will. As soon as he’s been properly debriefed,” Summers said. “We’re taking you to a safe house until we can process your paperwork and arrange for permanent transfer. Do you have any friends or family in Texas?”

Grace shook her head. So did Dylan.

“In that case, we’ll proceed as planned.”

Dylan could tell by the expression on his wife’s face that she was already having second thoughts. When she said, “Hold on a minute,” he figured the marshals were in for a talking-to.

If she had not been cradling Brandon, Dylan knew Grace would have jumped to her feet in confrontation mode. “This safe house. If we go there, where will you put Dylan?”

“In the safe house,” McCall answered.

“Not with us, you won’t.”

Dylan was afraid both marshals were going to laugh, particularly when Grace made a disgusted-looking face at him. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have been ready to join them.

“Mrs. McIntyre,” McCall said calmly, “it’s our job to protect you from criminals. We’re not marriage counselors or psychologists. We will provide accommodations that will keep you and your family safe. I suggest you stop thinking of yourself and start considering your children.”

The look of abject astonishment on Grace’s face was a sight to behold, one Dylan knew he would not soon forget. In the following moments she went from amazement to anger, then to resignation and finally penitent surrender.

Nodding, she said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I suppose he’ll behave since his arm is hurt.”

The bullet wound was not the only place Dylan was hurting. He cast sad eyes on his wife and slowly shook his head, taking care to move the rest of his body as little as possible. “I have never abused or even threatened you, Grace, and I’m not about to start now, with or without a bullet hole in my arm.”

“I never said you had.”

“You implied it.” He heaved a noisy sigh. “Look. I made some big mistakes and I’m paying for them. I don’t deny that. But what I did, I did for you. For our family.”

“Don’t try to put the blame on me,” she countered. “I never told you to lie or steal or whatever else you did.”

“You were always happy when I brought home those hefty bonus checks.”

“Because I didn’t know what you were doing to deserve them! You...you...”

Marshal McCall stepped between them. “That’s enough. Both of you. You’ll have plenty of time to argue once we settle you in the safe house. Right now, we need to transfer the children and their mother to one of our cars for transport.”

Dylan was about to ask about himself when Grace did it for him.

“He stays with us until we’ve finished asking questions and have turned his computer files over to our techs to make sure they’re what he promised,” McCall answered. “Then, if all goes well, he’ll join you.”

The expression on Grace’s face was cynical when she said, “I can hardly wait.”

In Dylan’s mind the same sentiment lurked. Only in his case, sarcasm was not involved.

* * *

Grace had no idea where a younger marshal was taking them, nor did she ask, although Kyle did pipe up once to object to their not going home. As long as she and her poor, tired babies were safe she didn’t really care. Not tonight, anyway.

Picturing tough, belligerent Kyle as a babe made her smile. He’d been such a sweetie—until his sister had come along and he’d ceased being an only child. Conversely, when Brandon had arrived, Kyle had acted delighted to have a brother on his side against the females of the household.

That ratio was normally two to two since Dylan was so seldom in the picture. His absence was one of the things that saddened her, although, in retrospect, she was glad her estranged mate had not had as much direct influence on their children as she’d had.

If her parents had been able to cope she might have called upon her own father to step in as a surrogate, but he had developed Alzheimer’s and was so far gone he didn’t even recognize his wife and caregiver these days. Male relatives on Dylan’s side of the family were nonexistent. His late mother had raised him by herself, meaning there had never been a father figure in his young life.

Perhaps that was the crux of his problem, Grace mused. And, if he’d chosen a role model from work, perhaps someone like his boss, Fred Munders, he’d probably been looking in the wrong place. She wasn’t positive, but since Fred’s wife ran an adoption agency, she wondered if good old Fred might be up to his neck in this mess.

The unmarked, black sedan approached a modest-looking, darkened house on a quiet, suburban street. The driver parked in front of the closed garage door and started to get out.

“So, this is it?” Grace spoke quietly to keep from disturbing her exhausted, dozing children.

“Yes, ma’am. Please stay in the car until I tell you it’s safe to get out.”

“We weren’t followed, were we?”

“Only by an unmarked police car, and he turned off just before we arrived so we wouldn’t draw attention.”

“How long will I have to stay here?”

“Until McCall or Summers tells you to move,” the driver said. “You need to trust them. They’re good at what they do.”

“I certainly hope so. What are my instructions? Do I just go in the house and wait? How will I know what’s going on in the outside world? And what about school for the older kids? Classes were almost over for the summer but I know they’re missing final exams.”

“All of that will be taken care of. Wait here,” the driver told her as he got out of the car.

Grace watched as he raised the overhead door, returned and pulled the car into the garage. He then moved to a side entrance to the house, unlocked the door and, pulling his gun from a shoulder holster beneath his coat, slipped into the silent house.

Grace’s fingers clenched in her lap. If this place was so safe, why did he need to inspect it with a gun in hand? What had Dylan gotten them into? The more she learned, the worse the situation became. Unfortunately, at this point, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it, either.

The agent returned. She thought he was talking to himself until she realized he was taking a hands-free phone call as he opened her door and helped her out.

“Yes, sir,” he said into the headset. “Forty-five minutes. I’ll get them settled and be ready when you arrive to relieve me.”

“Was that your boss?” Grace asked, more for something to chat about than out of curiosity.

The agent nodded and replied as he unbuckled Brandon and handed him to her before freeing Beth. Kyle undid his own seat belt. “Yes, ma’am. Marshal McCall will be here shortly.”

And that meant...? “Him and who else?”

“Mr. McIntyre and Marshal Summers, I believe.”

Grace mumbled, “Peachy,” belatedly noting that Kyle had observed the telling reaction. Well, too bad. She had tried more than once to explain to the children why she’d filed for divorce and had basically failed, or so it seemed. Of the three, Kyle remained the most antagonistic, which figured, since he was the oldest. The boy was ten going on thirty, thanks to having mentally tried to assume the responsibility for the family that his father had neglected for so long.

“Kyle, honey, I’ll need your help with Brandon,” Grace said, hoping that assigning him a task would help her son cope. “Would you please take him to the bathroom and get him ready for bed while I look after Beth?”

“Yeah, sure. Where is it?”

“Just head down that hall and you’ll find everything you need,” the young marshal said, pointing. “Clothes in a lot of sizes are in the closet and bureau drawers of the first bedroom. Just grab whatever you think you’ll need.”

Grace had progressed as far as the kitchen. It was neat and clean, but so very tiny. There wasn’t even a dishwasher! How in the world was she supposed to keep house properly in a place like this? And who was going to tend the yard for them?

“How long can we expect to be stuck here?” she asked.

The officer shrugged. “Beats me. I’ve seen these protection programs go on indefinitely. But you won’t be staying here. This is just a halfway house. A place to stage before you disappear for good.”

“That kind of thing really works? I can’t imagine that a determined criminal couldn’t track down just about anybody he wanted to, especially if he had enough money. What are the chances we’ll be found?”

“Small, as long as you follow the rules.”

Picturing Kyle in particular, she asked, “What happens if somebody cheats?”

He appeared to be weighing his answer carefully before he sobered and said, “Sometimes they die.”

* * *

Getting the incriminating flash drive into the right hands had definitely been a relief to Dylan. It was going to feel even better to be reunited with his family—the sooner the better.

Recorded questioning at headquarters didn’t take long and he was finally given something to help dull the pain in his arm. As he had hoped, turning over the computerized files had led the authorities to halfway trust him. Besides, considering the grilling he’d received in the past few days, there wasn’t anything more to add. Evidently, law-enforcement officials had realized that and were cutting him some slack because he was hurt. Now, if he could just get Grace to do the same....

As the pain subsided and he started to relax, his eyelids grew heavy and closed. He was half-asleep, slouched in a chair and cradling his arm, when he heard his name in the background.

One eye eased open enough to peer at the marshals who had been watching him. The woman, Serena, was obviously upset and not shy about letting on.

“What do you mean it’s gone? I gave it to you.”

“I know you did. And I put it into an evidence bag and tagged it right away. You saw me.”

“Then where is it?”

Dylan noticed her sidelong glance in his direction before she said, “You’ll have to search him again, just in case.”

“He didn’t take it. He can’t have. He hasn’t moved a muscle since you gave him his meds.”

“Just the same, it can’t have gotten up and walked off.”

“Around here?” McCall snorted in derision. “I’m beginning to wonder. Too many witnesses have died in custody for me to believe that all these setbacks are coincidental.”

“You think there’s a mole in the office?”

“Don’t you?”

Dylan saw her shrug before she said, “I don’t know what to think. Look what happened to my brother, Daniel.”

At that, McCall stiffened and turned away from her. Strange, Dylan thought, peering at the others and wondering if his confusion was due to the pain meds or if the situation was so convoluted he couldn’t have made sense of it if he’d had his wits about him. Either way, their personal squabble was none of his concern. He had enough problems of his own at the moment.

McCall crossed to him and stopped, his arms folded in a stern, defensive manner. “McIntyre. Stand up,” he ordered. “Sorry, but I need to search you.”

“I don’t have that drive anymore and you know it,” Dylan said, dismayed to hear his words slurring as an effect of the medication.

“Well, I know I put it on my desk and it’s not there now, so you’re our best guess.”

“Why would I take it back? Think about that for a second.” Wincing, Dylan managed to stand although he was wobbly and had to use his good arm to steady himself on a nearby file cabinet.

“Yeah, I know,” McCall told him, sounding truly regretful. “This search is just so we can rule you out.”

“You should ask some of the people I saw milling around in here while you were fighting with your partner.”

“We weren’t fighting.” He started to methodically check Dylan’s pockets. “Who did you see near my desk?”

“Um, can’t say. Sorry.” Dylan rubbed his good hand over his face, trying to clear his mind of cobwebs. “Everybody was kind of blurred, like they were in a fog.”

“Did you see uniforms? Badges? Jackets with U.S. Marshal printed on the back?”

“I don’t think so. Everybody wore street clothes, like you and your partner.” He paused, taking a shaky breath and hoping to regain some of his equilibrium. “So, who’s Daniel and what happened to him?”

The ensuing pause was so long Dylan began to wonder if the man was going to explain.

McCall cleared his throat and continued with the search. “Daniel was one of us. Marshal Summers’ brother. He was killed in the line of duty. You probably read about it in the papers. The story was all over the news right after it happened.”

“If my mind was working normally tonight I’d probably remember,” Dylan said. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.” The marshal backed away. “You can sit down again. I’m done. You don’t have it on you.”

“That’s what I told you in the first place.” Sinking into the chair with an oomph, Dylan fought to catch his breath as the pain ebbed and flowed in time with his pounding pulse.

“I don’t suppose you made a backup copy.”

“Sure did,” Dylan said, shooting a disparaging look at the marshal. “And I gave it to you.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” McCall conceded. “Okay, we may as well take you over to the safe house since there are no files for our techs to examine right now.”

“I can’t remember all the adoption cases,” Dylan warned. “Don’t even ask me to. That’s why I kept those records.”

“Understood. But whether or not we find other evidence, you’ll still be needed to testify.”

“You are determined to get me into more hot water, aren’t you?”

“You’re already in up to your neck and plenty close to a boil,” the marshal gibed, helping him to his feet. “Come on. Summers and I’ll take you to your family.”

Dylan was medicated just enough to loosen his tongue. “I haven’t got a family,” he slurred. “I lost ’em. Lost ’em all, just like that.” A feeble attempt to snap his fingers failed and he staggered, nearly falling until the marshal righted him.

“Easy, man. I know how you feel but it won’t do any good to lose sleep over it. Some things are beyond fixing.”

“You sound like you know all about that.”

McCall nodded as Summers joined them. Dylan saw him look straight at her as he quietly said, “Yeah, I do.”