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Family In Hiding
Gripping the back of the seat in front of him he watched the downtown pass and the suburbs begin. Almost there. Almost to his Gracie.
The thought of her pet name sobered him even further. He’d tried to be a good husband, yet his efforts had never seemed sufficient. It was just like when he was growing up. There was never enough of anything. Dylan had vowed that that would never happen to his family and it had not.
What about now? His jaw clenched. Now, his greatest desire was to stay out of jail—and to see that his loved ones were safe and well cared for. Even if his efforts to make amends were going to place him in jeopardy, he was certain his family would be safe. After all, he was no longer living at home or taking an active part in their daily lives so there was no reason for anyone to bother them, other than perhaps the police.
If he hadn’t been positive that God had given up on him long ago, he might even have closed his eyes and prayed for divine help. It was hopelessness, and well-deserved guilt, that stopped him.
* * *
Grace parked in the shade across from the school and released her three-year-old from his booster seat. His pudgy little arms encircled her neck and he hugged her tightly, inadvertently pulling her long red hair as she lifted him.
“Ouch,” Grace said with a smile and a toss of her head. “Easy, big boy.”
“I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you, too, Brandon. Just try not to pull Mama’s hair, okay?”
“Okay.” He leaned back and pointed. “There’s Beth.”
“I see her.” Toting her youngest, Grace crossed to the lawn in front of the elementary school where they joined her daughter. “Have you seen Kyle?”
“Nope.” Beth reached into her pink backpack and pulled out a handful of papers. “I got an A in spelling. And look what I drew.”
“Very nice, honey.”
“It’s me and you and Daddy and the boys,” the girl said proudly. “See? I gave Kyle an ugly face ’cause he’s always so mean.”
Grace did her best to ignore the child’s telling portraits. Not only was the family still complete in her daughter’s eyes, she’d noted the chip on Kyle’s shoulder.
It wasn’t hard to spot her eldest. His red hair stood out like a lit traffic flare at an accident scene when he left the main building and started in her direction. Then he paused, pivoted and ran right up to a total stranger.
The man crouched to embrace the boy, setting Grace’s nerves on edge and causing her to react immediately. She grabbed Beth’s hand and pulled her along while still balancing Brandon on one hip.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure stood in response to her challenge. The brim of a cap and dark glasses masked his eyes, yet there was something very familiar about the way he moved, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint shadow of stubble on his strong chin.
Grace gaped. It couldn’t be. But it was.
“Dylan?”
He placed a finger against his lips. “Shush. Not here. We need to talk. Where’s your car?”
“Across the street. Why? Where’s yours?”
“I took a bus. It’s a long story.”
When he removed the glasses, Grace was startled to glimpse an unusual gleam in his eyes, as if he might be holding back tears—which, of course, was out of the question, knowing him.
“If you want to speak to me, you can do it through my lawyer the way we agreed.”
Dylan replaced the glasses and spoke decisively. “This has nothing to do with our divorce. It’s much more important than that.”
Grace’s first reaction was disappointment, followed rapidly by resentment. “What could possibly be more important than our marriage and the future of our children?” She knew her raised voice was attracting attention but she didn’t care. “This is precisely why I filed for divorce, Dylan. You have always put other things ahead of your family. Why can’t you see that?”
“I’m beginning to realize that my priorities need adjustment, but that’s not why we have to talk. In private.”
“What could you possibly have to say to me that can’t be said right here?” She knew her husband well enough to tell that he was struggling with something and, in spite of her anger, she felt a twinge of pity.
“Let me put it this way, Grace,” Dylan said quietly, cupping her elbow and leaning closer. “You can either come with me and listen to what I have to say or get ready to save a bunch of money because you probably won’t have to pay your divorce attorney.”
“Why on earth not?”
Dylan scanned the crowd and clenched his jaw before he said, “Because you’ll be a widow.”
TWO
It took only minutes for the McIntyre family to return to the family’s midsize white SUV. Grace secured little Brandon while Dylan made sure the other two were safely belted on either side of the toddler’s booster seat in the second row.
“If you want me to drive, I’ll need your keys,” Dylan said.
“Why? What happened to yours?”
“The same thing that happened to my briefcase and cell phone,” he replied, holding out his hand.
She pulled a ring of keys from her jeans’ pocket and tossed it to him. “Okay. But this better be good.”
He nodded. “Get in and buckle up.”
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace unusual. And public. Can you think of any nearby locations you and I have never visited?” He started the car and pulled into traffic, narrowly missing a passing motorist. “Preferably one with a crowd.”
“You’re scaring me, Dylan.”
“Good. That makes two of us.”
With an eye on his mirrors as well as the road ahead, Dylan headed west on Highway 44. “How about the botanical garden? You used to say you’d like to go there sometime and we never got around to it.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Grace set her jaw and folded her arms across her chest, clearly defensive. “I suppose you’re going to make me wait until we get there before you explain what’s going on.”
He met her stare and angled his head back toward their children. “I think that’s for the best. Once I’ve told you everything, I know you’ll agree I’m doing the right thing.”
“I’d better.”
Continuing to cut in and out of traffic whenever it was safe to do so, Dylan remained on full alert. Not only were criminals probably after him, so was the law. He knew he shouldn’t have ditched his handlers but once he’d reached the street outside his office, his heart had insisted he go straight to Grace and his children while he was still free to do so.
He caught sight of Kyle in the mirror and his gut clenched. If Grace was upset, their son was doubly angry. The boy’s brow was furrowed and he was glaring at his father as if he’d already forgotten how glad he’d been to see him.
The turnoff on Shaw Boulevard took them straight to the Missouri Botanical Garden. “What section?” Dylan asked, attempting to keep the concern out of his voice. “I understand the irises are in full bloom right now.”
“No,” Grace replied with an audible sigh. “Make it the Children’s Garden. That will give the kids something to do and we won’t have to stay long. I think they close early this time of year.”
“Okay. You go buy the tickets and I’ll bring the kids.”
Watching her shoulder her purse and slowly start toward the entrance, Dylan could barely breathe. Look what he’d had—and let slip away. Grace was one of a kind. A loving wife and a great mother. Of all the mistakes he’d made, and there were plenty, letting his work take precedence over his family had been the worst.
It was more than that, his guilty conscience insisted. You let yourself be blinded by the promise of success and wealth beyond your dreams. And now look where you are.
Straightening with Brandon on one hip and the older children close at heel, Dylan started for the entrance to the gardens. Judging by the number of cars present they had made a good choice. There were enough others there to provide anonymity without a crowd overwhelming them. And, if necessary, the gardens would provide plenty of places to hide.
Dylan sincerely hoped it was not going to come to that. If he’d had the slightest inkling that they were being followed he would have driven straight to the nearest police station and turned himself in.
However, since they seemed to be in the clear for the present he was going to carry out his plan. Grace was a sensible woman. She’d see why his future—and hers— depended upon the choices he was about to make. Given the lives those criminals had ruined and the children they had kidnapped, according to the police, he could hardly wait to help put them all behind bars.
Finished at the ticket booth, Grace turned back to her family. Dylan saw her hair catch the rays of the afternoon sun and gleam like burnished copper, afire with highlights that gave her a haloed appearance and made him rue the poor choices that had led them to that moment.
As much as he would have liked to appeal to his alienated spouse on a personal level, he realized that this wasn’t the right time to reveal how much trouble he was in and that he was preparing to face danger.
The less she knew about all that and the more he nurtured their estrangement, the safer she, and his children, would be.
* * *
Hardly anything would have surprised Grace more than her husband’s presence at the elementary school. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Dylan had picked up the kids. So what had brought him this time? And why was he dressed like a refugee from a Cardinals’ baseball game?
She held up the brochure she’d been given with the tickets and pointed to it. “Let’s go to number ten. It’s an elevated pavilion. We can stand up there and watch while the kids check out the tree house and the frontier fort.”
“Works for me.”
Grace led the way, noting that her usually rambunctious children were clinging close to the daddy they hadn’t seen in weeks. Although she felt slightly abandoned she could understand their feelings. They’d missed Dylan. So had she. Not that she’d ever actually admit it.
They started up a boarded walkway that was edged with a rough-cut rail fence and Grace wished she’d worn more substantial rubber-soled shoes rather than skimpy sandals.
She faltered once, catching herself on the bordering fencing.
“You okay?” Dylan asked.
Why did he have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he be standoffish and aloof the way he used to be?
Because he’s trying to drive you crazy, her imagination replied cynically. And he’s doing a wonderful job of it.
“Grace?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”
They reached the covered pavilion. Grace turned to her family. “Put Brandon down so he can go with Kyle and Beth.”
The three-year-old clung to his daddy’s neck. “No. I wanna stay here.”
More tenderly than Grace had ever seen Dylan behave in the past, he set the child on his feet and kissed his damp cheek. “I’ll be right here, buddy. You go with Kyle and your sister. Mommy and I need to talk.”
The child clapped his hands over his ears and sniffled. “I won’t listen. See?”
Kyle took him by the wrist and tugged him away, letting Beth follow at her own pace while Brandon began to whimper. Grace couldn’t tell what the older boy said to quiet his brother but the whining stopped as if someone had shut off a faucet.
“All right. We’re alone,” Grace said. “The park closes in forty-five minutes. I’ll give you thirty to tell me what’s going on and then the kids and I are out of here.”
Dylan shoved his hands into the pockets of the silky jacket and paced away from her before turning. “It’s complicated. I hardly know where to start.”
“Maybe I can make it easier for you,” she said wryly. “I already know you were up to your neck in illegal adoptions because the police interviewed me about it. What more can there be?”
“Plenty,” Dylan said, swallowing so hard she could see his Adam’s apple move. “And it’s much worse than I’d thought. Learning the truth is what finally decided it for me.”
“Just wanting to be an honest, upright citizen wasn’t enough for you?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Dylan admitted, “although I’ve since had a long talk with myself and I promise I’ll never step that close to the line again.”
“Close? Ha! You were balancing on the sharp edge of a knife blade, Dylan. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall off onto the wrong side long before this.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. If I had it all to do over again I hope I’d make better choices.” He studied the planks at his feet. “When it all began it seemed innocent enough. My part in it was technically within the law.”
“Then why are we having this talk? What’s changed?”
“I have,” Dylan said. He removed the dark glasses and looked straight at her.
Grace was taken aback by the pain she saw in his expression, in his eyes. If they had not had the history of the past twelve years between them, she would have believed him in a heartbeat. “Why?”
Watching his internal struggle, Grace was almost tempted to go to him and put her arms around his waist. She resisted. Waiting. Listening. Never dreaming he’d have anything earth-shattering to reveal.
When Dylan said, “Because the children involved came from a baby-stealing ring,” she had to put a hand on the railing to keep her balance.
“Babies?”
It was barely spoken aloud, yet Dylan nodded. “Yes. I just found out. That’s why I decided to volunteer to provide the proof the police need to put a stop to it.” He paused. “I was hoping you’d be pleased.”
“Flabbergasted is more like it,” Grace said, glancing over his shoulder to watch her own children play. “I can’t even imagine what those poor mothers went through.”
“I can. I spoke with a friend of one of them on the phone. She got involved when she was a missionary in Mexico. The authorities are still trying to trace a baby she swears was taken, brought to the States and sold.”
“That’s terrible!”
“There’s more.” He reached for her hand and she let him grasp it for a few seconds before pulling away and folding her arms.
“Go on. It can’t get much worse.”
“Yes, it can. One of the men who had been trying to silence her—his name was Flores—was arrested and then murdered. In jail. So the authorities are no closer to nailing the higher-ups than they were before.”
A heaviness settled in her chest. “You know who they are, don’t you?”
“I have a fair idea about one or two. There’s still a lot of legwork to do but I think I’m the key. So do the cops.” He put his hand in his pants’ pocket and pulled out the flash drive to show her. “This is why I’m not in custody today. I was picking up this evidence for them.”
“Now what?” With a shiver she couldn’t stop, Grace began to scan the nearby grounds as if sensing imminent threats.
“I keep a low profile and wait, I guess. Once I’ve turned over these files to the cops they won’t need me anymore.” Dylan snorted derisively. “Of course I’ll have to find another job. I doubt my bosses will condone my change of heart.”
“Will you be safe?”
“Don’t tell me you care.”
“Of course I do. The kids are already struggling to adjust because you’re not in their lives. What will it do to them if you go to prison?”
“I don’t expect that to happen,” Dylan said. “At least I hope it won’t since I have something crucial to plea bargain with.”
“Does anybody else know you have evidence?”
“Not directly. I was noticed when I went by the office this morning but my regular files had been cleaned so nobody can possibly imagine what I was doing.”
“You hope.” Grace’s emotions were on a rollercoaster and she could envision a precipice at the end where the track vanished. And Dylan with it.
She started to pace. “What am I supposed to do about the divorce if you’re not around?”
“Go ahead without me,” Dylan said. He shrugged so nonchalantly she wanted to scream before he added, “Of course you could postpone the final decree and see if you really need it.”
“Because you expect to be murdered like that other witness who was killed in jail? Is that what you were thinking when you said I might become a widow?”
“Let’s just say there’s an element of risk.”
His nonchalant attitude galled. “I can’t believe this is happening, Dylan. If you don’t care about yourself, think of your children.”
“I am thinking of them. And of all those other children whose futures changed because of me.” He began to pace the gazebo floor, hitting his opposite palm with his balled fist.
“What, exactly, did you do?” she asked, worried that the answer was going to hurt worse than not knowing. Merely being associated with Dylan at this point was making her feel sullied.
“The fewer details you have, the better,” he said.
“Now you’re sounding like the Dylan McIntyre I know,” Grace countered. “Always in charge, always sure nobody else is smart enough to grasp fundamentals as cleverly as you do.”
Returning to stand in front of her, toe to toe, he grasped her shoulders. The power and resolve emanating from him momentarily took her breath away. “Stop judging me by past performances and listen to me, Grace. I only came to tell you in person because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me otherwise. I’m not going to give you any more details because I don’t want to put you or the kids in danger.”
“How do you know it isn’t already too late?” she asked, ruing the tremor in her voice and hoping she looked far more courageous than she felt.
“Because everybody knows we’ve been estranged for a long time and are almost divorced. And, because nobody needs to know how the authorities are finally going to be able to prove who I answered to, why I did what I did.”
She twisted out of his grip. “Get real, Dylan. If these criminals are smart enough to steal babies and get away with it, what makes you think they won’t suspect you of divided loyalties?”
She watched his jaw muscles working for long seconds before he spoke again. “I have no choice,” he insisted. “Even if I tried to back down at this point there’s no way I could go to work and behave as if nothing has changed. It was hard enough to casually walk through the office this morning.” He spread his arms, palms toward her. “Look at me, Grace. Believe how sorry I am. You have to.”
Before she could form a suitable answer, there was a startling noise; a distant ping that made her husband jump.
Dylan suddenly launched himself at her, carrying them both to the wooden floor and knocking the air out of Grace. “Get off me! What’s the matter with you?”
“A shot! Didn’t you hear it?”
“I heard something. How do you know...?”
“The kids!” he rasped into her ear. “Go get the kids out of here while I draw their fire.”
Stunned, Grace nevertheless rolled onto her knees as soon as Dylan began to stand. Watching him crouch behind the railing as if those widely spaced boards would afford adequate protection from another bullet, she was astounded by the way her heart went out to him in spite of everything.
“Now,” Dylan shouted over his shoulder.
He began to sprint away.
Grace scrambled in the opposite direction toward her children. Kyle had apparently noticed the furor and had gathered his siblings together inside the walls of a miniature fort. Brandon was cooperating but Beth was screeching in protest.
Grace scooped up Brandon, grabbed Beth’s hand and barely paused before heading out the opposite side of the child-size structure and ducking into thick foliage along a garden path.
Shaking so badly she could hardly stand, she hunkered down, pulling all three children close. “Shush. We’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. Don’t make noise or they’ll find us.”
Only Kyle seemed to grasp the reality behind her actions. “Where’s Dad?”
“Never mind that. Just do as I say.”
The slim ten-year-old started to rise. Grace grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back down. “No! You have to stay with me.”
“But, Dad...”
“Your father got himself into this mess and he says he can get himself out of it, so we’re going to let him.” She fixed her most convincing parental stare on her eldest child, thankful to see him wilt from its effects.
What she wasn’t willing to admit, to Kyle or even to herself, was how worried she was for Dylan’s well-being. For his future. And for the rest of the family.
Positive her brood would stay put, at least for the present, Grace reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out her cell phone and pressed 9-1-1. Somebody had to be practical and behave like a sensible adult. While Dylan was acting as if he thought he could outrun bullets, she was going to summon proper assistance.
As soon as the call was answered, Grace began with, “I’m at the botanical gardens. We think somebody is shooting at us!”
* * *
Dylan was torn. Should he circle back to rejoin his family in the hope he could protect them? Or should he stay as far away from Grace and the kids as possible? Neither choice seemed foolproof.
He’d been listening carefully and had heard no more shots. Was it possible the whole incident had been imagined? Was he so mentally unbalanced from the stress of finding out what he’d done that he was hearing things? Ducking phantom attackers? Making a mountain out of a molehill?
His jaw clenched and he shook his head. This was no trivial matter. Even if his own life wasn’t currently in jeopardy, that didn’t mean he and his family would remain safe in the future. Nobody who had interrogated him had mentioned the possibility of going into the Witness Protection Program but surely that was an option. It had to be, particularly since other erstwhile eyewitnesses had been assassinated while in police custody.
Now that he thought about it, perhaps he should withhold his evidence until that idea had been discussed and his wife and children had been offered sanctuary.
The distant wail of sirens told him he had not been the only garden visitor who had sensed trouble. In a way, that was comforting. At least he could be certain he hadn’t imagined the attack.
Dylan stepped onto the nearest path and started to jog toward the gates, figuring to intercept the police, explain what was going on and direct them to Grace and the kids.
Rounding the final corner he spied several patrol cars entering the grounds. He raised an arm and waved to get their attention.
A crack of sound split the atmosphere.
Dylan felt as if someone had smacked his forearm with a baseball bat.
He faltered. Staggered. Grabbed his wrist with his opposite hand and yelled, “Over here!” at the top of his lungs.
When he looked down, there was blood dripping off his fingers and dotting the path at his feet.
THREE
The wail of multiple sirens settled Grace’s nerves considerably. Nevertheless she waited until she spotted a man in a police uniform before she stepped out to show herself and the children.
“You the lady who called this in?” the crew-cut officer asked.
“Yes.” Grace pointed at the gazebo. “We were right over there when we were shot at.”
“You and these kids?” He sounded incredulous.
“No. Me and my estranged husband. He’s around here somewhere.”
“You sure it wasn’t him who took a potshot at you?”
“It couldn’t have been. We were together when it happened.”
“What does your husband look like? How was he dressed?”
“He’s taller than you by a couple of inches,” she reported, failing to add that Dylan also looked far more masculine and mature. “He was wearing a red baseball jacket and cap.”
“You’d better come with me, ma’am.” Taking one last assessing look at their surroundings, he was apparently satisfied enough to holster his sidearm. “This way.”
“Have you seen him? His name is Dylan McIntyre. I’m Grace.”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe he’s in the parking lot with some of my team.”
“Is he all right?”
When she got no answer, she grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “Tell me? Was he shot?”