Cherokee Dad. Sheri WhiteFeather
And a radio transmitter can be hidden eighteen feet in the air.”
“So what do we do?”
“Don’t discuss sensitive issues on the phone.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”
“No. I have the number of an old friend of Reed’s. Someone he trusts. He’s a communications expert. He’ll check the lines. I’m not sure when, though.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Michael was tired of the cloak and dagger, the spy game Reed had put her up to. He wanted answers.
Now.
“Talk,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Her competent hands turned shaky. “The reason I left?”
He steeled his gaze. “And stayed away so long.”
“Of course, yes. You deserve to know the truth.”
Michael frowned. Had she whispered the word truth? Or was it his imagination? She had spoken quietly as it was.
“Anytime you’re ready,” he prodded.
She turned toward the window. The unexpected storm had passed, Michael noticed, but rain still drizzled. The sound mingled softly with the baby’s gentle breathing.
“Reed called me from California,” she said. “He’d been secretly dating a girl named Beverly, a college student from a wealthy family, and he wanted to marry her.”
Michael raised his eyebrows at that, but he kept his mouth shut, letting her continue.
“Beverly’s father threatened Reed. He warned him to stay away from his daughter. So Reed and Beverly were planning to skip town, to elope and disappear for good.” Heather shifted, facing him again. “I assumed her father was a politician or a powerful law enforcement official, someone who could find a way to frame Reed for a crime he didn’t commit. To send him back to prison.”
Yeah, right. As if Reed needed an excuse to get locked up again, to thumb his nose at society. Michael used to run around with Heather’s brother, creating small-town havoc like the cigarette-stealing, whiskey-rousing, gambling-behind-the-barn delinquents they’d been. Only Reed had eventually taken his crimes to adult levels. He’d celebrated his high school graduation by robbing the principal’s house. He’d done it as a lark, as a kiss-my-ass rush, but he’d carved out his future just the same.
Reed’s next crime had involved a little more danger. And the one after that had landed him a short but memorable prison term.
The baby awakened with a fierce cry, interrupting Michael’s thoughts.
Heather dashed up and rushed to the boy’s aid. Lifting him in her arms, she cradled him, soothing him with maternal whispers.
Justin quieted immediately. He put his head on her shoulder and made a contented sound.
Michael did his damnedest to ignore the tenderness between woman and child. He was already emotional over Heather, and getting sappy over Reed’s kid would only make matters worse.
“I need to change him and give him his lunch,” she said.
Michael waved his hand, feigning indifference. “Go ahead.”
She dressed Justin in a blue T-shirt, a fresh diaper, snap-up jeans and a bib. He wiggled and squirmed and made excited noises.
She kept him on her lap as she fed him, but Michael could see that it wasn’t an easy task. He knew there was a high chair in her trunk, but he suspected she didn’t want to burden him to bring it in.
Justin said “um” after every bite. Did that mean yum? Michael couldn’t imagine that the kid actually thought mushy veggies and jarred meat were yummy.
As Heather wiped his messy face, he scrunched his nose in disapproval, then squealed after he was clean. Next he drank from a bottle, tipping it himself.
When Justin looked curiously at Michael, Heather followed the boy’s gaze. Michael shifted in his chair, wishing the scrutinizing would end.
Finally, it did.
She placed Justin back in the portable crib, which apparently doubled as a playpen. A handful of toys followed him into the little cage.
It wasn’t a very fancy cage, Michael noticed. Although clean, it appeared old, possibly purchased from a secondhand store.
“Tell me the rest of the story,” he said, suddenly feeling bad for the kid. He remembered surviving on hand-me-downs, at least until his wealthy uncle had showed up.
Heather drew a breath. “I wanted to say goodbye to Reed in person. To see him before he vanished. He told me that once he and Beverly took off, he wouldn’t be able to contact me again.”
So she’d arranged a bogus trip to L.A., Michael thought. Allowing him to believe she was attending a conference. “You weren’t supposed to keep in touch with Reed to begin with. You promised me that you’d cut him out your life, that you’d stay away from him.”
“I know, but I couldn’t. Not this time.”
Not anytime, he realized. She’d been secretly conversing with Reed all along.
“When I arrived in L.A., all hell broke lose. I went straight to my brother’s downtown loft and found Beverly there, crying over Reed. He was on the floor, unconscious. He’d been severely beaten. A warning from Beverly’s father to stay away from her.”
Justin made a humming sound as he stacked colorful blocks. When they fell, he laughed and clapped, unaware of the distress in Heather’s voice.
“I tried to dial 911,” she went on to say. “But Beverly begged me not to, even though Reed was a bruised and bloodied mess. I didn’t know what to do.” She paused, as if recalling her terror. “Then Beverly asked me to help her get him out of town. To tend to his injuries.”
“And that’s what you did?”
“Yes, but the ordeal didn’t stop there.”
“What ordeal?”
“We ended up on the run.”
“From who? Beverly’s father?”
“Yes.” She looked up and met his gaze, her voice haunted. “Her father isn’t an ordinary man. He’s—”
Frustrated, Michael moved to the edge of his seat. “He’s what?”
“An L.A. crime boss. We were on the run from the West Coast Family.”
As her words registered, Michael’s heartbeat blasted his chest. “You mean the mob?” The guys who ran racketeering and extortion rings? Smuggled drugs? Pumped their enemies full of bullets?
“Yes,” she answered quietly. “The mob.”
Two
“I was trapped,” Heather said, praying Michael would understand. “I couldn’t contact you. I couldn’t risk a phone call.”
“You mean to tell me that Reed couldn’t have scrambled your location, kept the mob from tracing the call?”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t have been enough. The conversation still could have been bugged, even if the eavesdropper couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.”
“So?”
“So we had no idea what they’d do. The mob doesn’t normally take hostages or harm innocent people, but this was different.”
Unconvinced and much too macho, he squinted at her. “You were afraid they’d hurt me?”
“Or threaten someone close to you. Try to find out how much you knew.”
His eyes narrowed even more. “They could have done that anyway.”