Christmas Vendetta Read online

  The closest guest gestured with his fork. “Kitchen.”

  His companion, a woman with flaming red hair and enough eye makeup to stock a cosmetic counter, disagreed. “No. Remember, honey? She said she was going outside for a license number or something.”

  “That’s right,” the second woman agreed.

  Sandy Lynn could barely speak. “License number?”

  “Yeah. Something about a missing registration card.” The red-haired woman waved a manicured hand in dismissal. “Probably just a paperwork glitch. She is running this place all by herself, you know. Want to eat with us?”

  “Thanks, no,” Sandy Lynn managed to squeak out. “I should go find Bessie.” Which she was definitely not going to do. Not before telling Clay what she’d just learned. If Mrs. Proctor was jotting down the license number of his car she’d be in a position to ID them once she tumbled to the fact that they were wanted by the police. Given her husband’s background, the woman was more than likely to pass that information on to law enforcement. Then they would know where Clay had gone and could concentrate their search.

  Feeling as though there were wings on her feet, she ran up the stairs. The door to her room was locked and Clay had the key so she knocked. Hard. Repetitively.

  His eyes were narrowed, his jaw set, when he jerked open the door. “Quiet.”

  Sandy Lynn pushed past him and whirled. “We have to leave. Now.”

  “Why? What’s happened? Did you see bikers?”

  “No. Not that. It’s about the registration card we didn’t fill out. Bessie, Mrs. Proctor, was outside writing down your car license.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The other guests told me.”

  “Are they sure?”

  She waved her arms in the air. “Who cares? If it isn’t happening right now, it will soon. Leave her money on the bed if you want and let’s get out of here.”

  “You’re right,” Clay said, sounding disappointed.

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “I know, I know.” While he was donning his boots, he pointed to the top of the old-fashioned dresser. “Check out that tourist info and see if there’s any place listed that looks promising. There’s probably a map in there, too.”

  “A map? We have GPS on the second new phone, don’t we?”

  Clay nodded briskly. “I don’t plan to use that any more than I have to, okay? Not even to contact my attorney. Just grab those brochures and let’s go.”

  Though it was hard to keep from being short-tempered with him when he was issuing orders, Sandy Lynn held back. This situation with Charles was hard on her, yes, but it was imperative that she remember she and Clay were both being adversely affected. Could his problems be tied to hers in some way? Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine how.

  He grabbed the pillowcases and eased open the door before handing their belongings to her. “I’ll go down first, in case there’s trouble. When I signal you, head for whichever door is unwatched and go wait in the car.” He handed over his keys. “Lock yourself in, just in case.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  A shrug. A scowl. “Completely different circumstances,” he said aside, his voice rumbling enough to give her the shivers.

  Together, they started for the narrow stairway. A faint voice drifted up to them. A woman’s voice.

  Clay halted and held up his hand. They paused, almost to the ground floor, and listened.

  “That’s right,” the voice was saying. “I didn’t write it down when I heard it on my scanner, but I’m pretty sure it matches. You’d best get somebody out here. On the double.” A pause. “Okay, bye.”

  Sandy Lynn didn’t know the numbers and letters of Clay’s license plate. She didn’t have to. The tension in his body told her enough without words.

  He reached back for her hand and clasped it tightly. “That changes everything. We’re done sneaking. Stay with me. We’re going to march out of here as if we have every right to.”

  The idea that they didn’t have that right hit her like a sledgehammer. For the first time since they’d fled Springfield she realized they were no longer merely misunderstood, innocent parties to crime. They were actually wanted fugitives!

  Turning themselves in seemed sensible. So did staying on the run. With no current information on Hood or the men trying to put Clay in jail, surrendering might be the worst option.

  Nevertheless, her conscience insisted they must do the right thing. Sandy Lynn bit her lip. If she knew what that was, she’d be delighted to comply.

  * * *

  Still holding her hand, Clay paused at the foot of the stairs, braced for battle if necessary. Conversation in the dining room provided a hum of undertones. No one was currently speaking loud enough for him to overhear. Therefore, he figured Bessie had concluded her phone call and was probably briefing the other guests.

  A shadow moved in the kitchen, then vanished. If the landlady was replenishing the breakfast coffee, they might have a chance to get out the rear door without being observed.

  Tiptoeing to the doorway and seeing no one, he waved behind him for Sandy Lynn to proceed. She slipped past silently and swiftly, and was almost to the rear exit when he heard a stir coming from the dining room.

  Bessie appeared. She wasn’t alone. Two youngish men stood at her sides. To Clay’s relief, nobody looked armed.

  “Stop,” the older woman demanded.

  “No. Run for the car,” Clay told Sandy Lynn.

  Concentrating on the other three, he laid his palm on the grip of the pistol tucked into his belt. “We don’t want any trouble. We just want to leave.”

  “What’s she got in the bags?” Bessie’s voice was shrill.

  “Our stuff. We haven’t stolen anything. I left money for our room on the bed upstairs. You won’t be out anything. Just don’t try to stop us.”

  The owner of the B and B held out her arms to block the other guests. “No need for violence. I’ve had enough of that in my life already. Just go if that’s what you want. Get out of here.”

  Resignation in the woman’s expression caused Clay to reply, “Thank you,” before following Sandy Lynn.

  She was not only in the car, she’d started it. He tossed the pillowcases into the rear and jumped into the passenger seat. “Okay. Let’s go. Show me what you can do.”

  “Seriously?” Her exuberance in spite of their harrowing situation almost made him laugh.

  “Yes. Get us out of here.”

  Applying enough power to proceed without skidding, she backed out, shifted and started toward the highway. He supposed he should compliment her on her driving because she deserved it, but he didn’t want to make her complacent. This was merely the beginning of another stage in their toxic adventure and, judging by recent experience, it would worsen before it was over.

  They stopped at a red traffic light at the edge of town and Sandy Lynn looked over at him. “Where to? Which way?”

  “Beats me.”

  “I had a chance to glance at a map in a brochure while I was warming up the car. The Mark Twain forest isn’t far. How about heading in that direction?”

  “Suits me. Do you know the area?” he asked, surprised when she said she did.

  “There’s a summer camp nearby. I went there six months before I was sent to the foster home next door to you,” Sandy Lynn explained. “Maybe I can find it again. It’s not marked on that map, but I know it was close to an abandoned ranger station because we used to sneak off and hide there to smoke.” She made a face at him. “My wild youth. I haven’t smoked since.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clay kept watch behind them as they moved farther and farther from civilization. The brown-and-green sign designating an entry road into the forest was up ahead. “There.”

  �
�I see it. This still okay with you?”

  “Fine. I’d feel better if we had camping equipment, though.”

  Sighing and smiling slightly, she glanced over at him. “Picky, picky, picky.”

  “Nag.” Clay felt the beginnings of a grin.

  When she responded, “Cynic,” he couldn’t keep from smiling, so he bent over the simple map and traced parts of it with his finger as a mental diversion. “I think we can cut through and exit on the opposite side if we want. It’s an option.”

  Sandy Lynn nodded. She’d slowed their speed due to the winding, narrower road. “Good. All we’ll have to do is choose between facing Charles and his biker buddies, running from the police or freezing to death because we didn’t come properly equipped. That sounds like a perfect plan.”

  If her conclusions hadn’t been so spot on, Clay would have laughed aloud. Instead, he clamped his jaw and studied the map for other choices, discovering none. Maybe entering the forest hadn’t been such a bright idea after all.

  It looked to him as if, should they be discovered too soon, they were likely to be trapped there.

  * * *

  Relying on instinct as much as memory, Sandy Lynn steered along a series of back roads and dirt tracks that took them in and out of deeply wooded areas. Pines predominated, although it was evident that beetle infestations in the past had decimated certain sections.

  “Finding the camp would be a lot easier if everything had stayed the same,” she offered.

  “You’re lost?”

  “No. I’m merely exploring various probabilities.”

  “Do you expect any of these roads to lead to the camp, or do you just enjoy driving my car?”

  “I’d like it a lot more if we’d stopped for gas before we came up here,” she said with a grimace. “We’re down to half a tank.”

  “I get good mileage. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

  “Humph. Yeah, and it’s all small stuff, right? Isn’t that what you used to say?”

  “Not anymore,” Clay said with a quiet sigh. “I’d welcome that size problem right now.”

  “Ditto.”

  After passing two possible turns, she spotted a worn, faded wooden sign nailed to a tree. The arrow aimed right. She braked and pointed. “Can you read that?”

  “No, but there’s a picture of a tent.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  The next few miles flew by at the speed of a freezing lizard in January, and Sandy Lynn was becoming discouraged. Her spirits took a further dive when the camp came into view and she saw its dilapidated condition. “Not the way I remember it.”

  “Is it even the same place?”

  “Beats me.” She stopped in front of what looked like it had been the main lodge building. “Maybe we can find something to eat in here if the mice and squirrels haven’t beaten us to it.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. I could use a couple of Bessie’s hot biscuits about now,” Clay said.

  “You could thank me.”

  Clay made a silly face at her as he got out. “For...?”

  “For my exemplary driving and perfect sense of direction.”

  He stepped up on the porch and she was sure he was chuckling before he said, “Watch yourself. These boards look rotten.”

  “Kind of like my idea to come here,” she added with a grimace.

  “I’ve heard worse.” Clay was grinning. “Matter of fact, I’ve had worse. Recently.”

  “I wasn’t going to mention it.”

  “Thanks.” He held out a hand to her, and she grasped it so he could help her navigate the rickety porch.

  “At least we’ll have plenty of wood if we decide to build a warming fire.”

  Clay chuckled low. “You can’t burn the porch, okay?”

  Sandy Lynn laughed and pointed with her free hand. “I meant that stack over there.”

  “Oh. Okay. C’mon. Let’s explore.”

  It didn’t take long for her to decide it was going to be rough housekeeping there, not to mention sleeping. The fact that they located some canned goods that were within their best-by date seemed amazing when she thought about it. “I’ve never eaten cold beans before.”

  “It helps if you’re really hungry. That ham stuff in the square can stays good for years after its sell-by date.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” She’d located a linen closet and brought out a blanket that had been stored in a sealed bin. Throwing it over what was left of a sofa made sitting there a little less undesirable. It did not, however, make her feel comfortable about the prospect of sleeping later.

  Clay lit a fire in the fireplace and soon had the room tolerably warm. A long stick made a satisfactory skewer and allowed Sandy Lynn to hold a chunk of faux ham over the fire until juices dripped and it almost caught fire.

  She rescued her meal and burned her fingers. “Ooh! Ow! Hot.”

  “Ya think?”

  “I hope it’s worth the pain. It’s been a long time since breakfast.”

  Clay opened his mouth—she assumed to answer her—then froze and raised one hand. “Shush.”

  “What?” The look on his face quieted her far more than his warning.

  Then she heard it. A vehicle was approaching, low gear grinding as it climbed a hill. Since their approach had seemed less of an incline, she assumed somebody must be approaching from a different direction.

  “We never should have lit this fire. Somebody must have seen the smoke from the chimney.”

  “It was a calculated risk. My decision, I’m sorry to say,” Clay told her.

  “Now what? Hide? Run? Face them?”

  “First we see who it is,” Clay said. “Try to look innocent and clueless, will you?”

  “Innocent is natural. The clueless part will be harder.”

  “Well, try. And stay out of sight unless I call you. I’m going to go greet our visitor.”

  Dropping the skewer and jumping to her feet, she started after him, her arms reaching, the urge to grab and stop him stronger than any hunger pangs. “No. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

  The poignancy in her own voice and the sorrowful look in his eyes transported her straight back to her teens and made her wonder if Clay was experiencing the same sense of déjà vu.

  “Please,” she added, then stopped halfway across the room and watched him close the door behind him, cutting her off. He had to come back, to be okay. He just had to. She didn’t think she could bear it if something awful happened to him.

  The sound of a pleasantly called greeting did little to ease her tortured mind or slow the pounding of her heart. Peeking out through grimy glass in a window was no comfort, either. The vehicle idling in front of the building, putting out clouds of exhaust and fogging the icy air, was a green pickup with the Forest Service logo on the door.

  Though the ranger wasn’t technically a cop, he was still an arm of the law, meaning he had the power to arrest them.

  She saw Clay shake the man’s hand and watched him gesturing as he apparently explained how they had ended up in an abandoned building.

  The ranger once again offered to shake hands. Clay accepted, then turned while the other man sauntered back to his truck. Sandy Lynn’s ragged breathing echoed in the silent room, accompanied by occasional popping sounds from the dying fire.

  After entering, Clay eased the door closed behind him. “I told him we’d gotten lost and were too tired to drive safely so we took refuge here. I think he bought it. I promised to make sure the fire was completely out before we left.”

  Since she had remained at the window, it was easy to see the green truck. Exhaust clouds had ceased. The engine was off. With a grab for Clay’s arm, she drew him closer and tilted her head to point.

  “I don’t think he was fooled,” she said, feeling dejected. “Look. He’s not going
anywhere.”

  Clay’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. “And while he’s parked out there, neither are we.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Clay couldn’t decide who he was most angry with, finally settling on himself. That conclusion brought other choices he’d been putting off making, one of which was phoning Abe for assistance and thus revealing his position. He hated to involve his best and perhaps only real friend; in this instance, however, there didn’t seem to be a lot of options, and those he did have weren’t good.

  Zipping up his leather jacket, he stepped out onto the back porch for privacy. One advantage he had was knowing Abe’s private cell number, which was a lot better than having to contact him through the station. When he connected, Clay felt a lot better.

  “Matthews.”

  “It’s me. What’s happening back there?”

  “In Springfield? Beats me. We got a tip from some Podunk police department in northern Arkansas that your car had been spotted. We’re on the road, heading your way.”

  “Bessie,” Clay murmured.

  “Um, right. The informant was a Mrs. Bessie Proctor. How did she manage to spot you, let alone write your license number down?”

  “I’ll explain everything as soon as I get Sandy Lynn to safety. I suppose there’s been no word on her ex.”

  “Matter of fact, we thought we were closing in on him when we got orders to abort that assignment and go after you. Chasing a rogue cop ranks higher than some low-life wife beater, although it should be a toss-up if you ask me.”

  “So, you still don’t have Hood in custody?”

  “Nope. Last I heard he’d hijacked a patrol car and an Arkansas unit was in pursuit.”

  Clay’s blood iced in his veins and he braced himself against the log exterior of the main cabin. If the escaped convict was or had been in a police car, that meant he could also have been listening to the radio and heard the same dispatch Abe had.

  “We may as well have put up a billboard,” Clay said cynically. “If everybody doesn’t already know where we are, they soon will. There’s a forest ranger parked right out front, and judging by the way he’s been speaking into his mic he’s probably figured out who we are, too.”