On the Run Read online

“He’s not going to have to hold his own. Not about me and Frankie. He’s done too much for us to have a payback like that.”

  “It’s pretty even-steven. You’ve done a lot for him too.”

  She shook her head. “He took me in and gave Frankie a home. All I did was work my rump off to keep the farm showing a profit. I would have done that anyway.”

  “I don’t believe he has any regrets.”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. “And what about you?”

  He lifted his brows. “What?”

  “You’ve spent eight years here. You said yourself that you have your moments when you’re fed up with small-town life.”

  “I’d have my moments even if I lived in Paris or New York. Everyone has their time of discontent.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But then, you have Frankie.” He looked down at her. “And so do we. I’ve never regretted being sent here to watch out for you. For all of us that’s the bottom line. It’s all about Frankie, isn’t it?”

  Frankie was putting up her pool stick, her face alight, her dark eyes glowing with laughter as she talked to Charlie.

  “Yes,” Grace said softly. “It’s all about Frankie.”

  How about me driving you home, Charlie?” Robert opened Charlie’s car door. “You’re a little on the tipsy side.”

  “I’m legal. I only had two drinks. I don’t need any young whippersnapper chauffeuring me.”

  “Whippersnapper? You flatter me. I’m too close to the big five-O for comfort.” He grinned. “Come on. You may have had only two drinks but you were weaving a bit when you got up from the table. Let me drive you.”

  “My truck knows the way home.” He made a face. “Like old Dobbin.” He started the engine. “If I’d beat you that last game, I might let you drive me home in style, but I reserve that right for our next session.” He smiled. “I was close this time. You’re going down next week.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “I’m always careful. I’ve got a lot to lose these days.” He tilted his head, listening. “Is that thunder?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. Grace said it was going to rain tonight. How the hell does she know?”

  Charlie shrugged. “She told me once she was a quarter Cherokee. Maybe it’s in the genes.” He waved as he backed out of the parking lot.

  Robert hesitated, gazing after him. Charlie seemed to be driving okay and it was almost all back roads to his farm. He’d give him a call when he’d had time to get home, just to ease his own mind. He turned and started back toward his SUV.

  It had been a good night and he was filled with warm contentment. Even if it hadn’t been a part of his job, he’d have enjoyed these evenings with Grace, Frankie, and Charlie. They were as close to family as he’d ever possessed. When he’d taken on this assignment, he’d never dreamed it would last this long, and now he’d be disappointed when it was over.

  If it was ever over, he thought ruefully. He’d been told Grace Archer was too important for them to take a chance with her safety. The fact that they’d kept him here for eight years in this little Podunk of a town only underscored that fact.

  Not that he’d take that chance even if she was considered dispensable by the agency. Grace had become a personal mission. He liked her, dammit. She was smart and strong and she never let anything get in the way when she was going after something. She was also one hell of an attractive woman. He was surprised that he found her appealing. He’d always liked cute, cuddly women, and his first wife had fallen dead center into that category. There was nothing cute or cuddly about Grace. She was tall, slim, and graceful, with curly, short chestnut hair that framed her face, big hazel eyes, full lips, and spare, elegant bone structure that was more interesting than conventionally pretty. Yet there was something about her confidence, quiet strength, and intelligence that turned him on. There had been times when he’d had to backpedal, but she was so completely absorbed by her daughter and the life she’d carved out at Charlie’s farm, he doubted if she’d even noticed.

  Or maybe she had and chose to ignore it. He knew she liked being his friend, and she probably didn’t want to jeopardize that relationship for a less calm, volatile one. God knew her life had been volatile and violent enough before she came here. When he’d read her dossier, he’d had trouble connecting the Grace he knew with that woman. Well, except for the fact that she had little trouble putting him down during their workouts. She was strong and skilled and went for the jugular. Who knew? It could be that that hint of danger was why he found her so interesting.

  He’d reached his SUV and he clicked the remote to unlock the door. It would take Charlie twenty minutes to get home. He’d give him another five minutes to get in the house and then call him and—

  A large brown envelope was on the seat.

  He stiffened. “Shit.” There was no question that he’d locked the SUV.

  He glanced around the parking lot. No one suspicious. But whoever had put the envelope on the seat had had all evening to do it.

  He slowly picked up the envelope, opened it, and took out the contents.

  A photo of two white horses in profile.

  Both horses had blue eyes.

  Mom. May I come in?” Frankie stood in the doorway of Grace’s bedroom. “I can’t sleep.”

  “Sure.” Grace sat up and patted the bed next to her. “What’s wrong? Stomachache? I told you not to eat that last piece of pizza.”

  “No.” Frankie was cuddling underneath the covers. “I was just lonesome.”

  Grace put her arm around her. “Then I’m glad you came. Being lonely hurts.”

  “Yeah.” Frankie was silent a moment. “I was thinking maybe you probably get lonesome too sometimes.”

  “When you’re not around.”

  “No, I mean what about all that love and marriage and stuff on TV? Do I get in the way?”

  “You’re never in the way.” She chuckled. “And I promise I’m not missing all that ‘stuff.’ I’m too busy.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure.” She brushed her lips across Frankie’s temple. “This is enough, baby. What I have with you and Charlie makes me very, very happy.”

  “Me too.” Frankie yawned. “I just wanted to let you know that I wouldn’t mind if you decided that you—”

  “Go to sleep. I have a two-year-old to break tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She nestled closer. “I heard the music again. I’m going to get up early and try to play it on the piano.”

  “Something new?”

  She yawned again. “Mm-hmm. It’s just a whisper now but it will get louder.”

  “When you’re ready, I’d love to hear it.”

  “Uh-huh. But it’s just a whisper. . . .”

  She was asleep.

  Grace moved carefully to shift her so that she was lying more comfortably on the pillow. She should send her back to her bed, but she wasn’t going to do it. Frankie was so independent, she seldom came to Grace to be cuddled anymore, and she was going to enjoy this. There was nothing more endearing than the soft, warm weight of a beloved child.

  And God knew there was no child more beloved than this child in her arms.

  It was odd that Frankie had started worrying about Grace’s solitary status. Or maybe not so odd. Frankie was older than her years and extremely sensitive. Grace hoped she’d convinced her that this life at the farm was enough for her. She’d told her the truth. She kept herself so busy that there was no room for worrying about sex or any other intimate relationship. Even if a relationship hadn’t posed a threat, she was not about to be pulled down into that whirlpool of sensuality that had almost destroyed her. When she had conceived Frankie, she was totally immersed in a physical obsession that had made her forget everything she should have remembered. That couldn’t ever happen again. She owed it to Frankie to keep a cool head.

  The rain was pounding against the window and the rhythmic sound only added to the sweetness that was enveloping her. She wanted it
to go on and on. To hell with the horse she had to break tomorrow. She was going to lie here with Frankie and savor this moment.

  What the hell is it?” Robert asked when he got through to Les North in Washington. “Horses? This county is full of them, but no one’s ever seen fit to break into my car and put a photo of them on my seat.”

  “Blue eyes?”

  “Both of them. What is it—”

  “Get out to the farm, Blockman. Check and see if everything’s okay.”

  “And wake her up? I just saw her and the kid tonight. They’re fine. It could just be some practical joke. I’m not the most popular person in this town. I’m not a Southern Baptist and I have nothing to do with horses, their feeding or well-being. That guarantees I’ll stay an outsider.”

  “It’s not a joke. And it’s not one of your neighbors down there. Get out there. Try not to scare her, but make sure the place is secure.”

  “I’ll call Charlie on his cell phone and make sure everything’s okay.” Robert was silent a moment. “This is serious stuff, isn’t it? Are you going to tell me why you’re bent out of shape?”

  “You’re damn right it’s serious. This may be the reason you’ve been parked on her doorstep all these years. Get out there and earn your salary.”

  “I’m on my way.” Robert hung up.

  North pressed the disconnect and sat there thinking.

  Warning? Probably. And if it was a warning, who had given it?

  Kilmer.

  He muttered a curse. Kilmer surfacing after all these years was the worst-case scenario. They’d made a deal, dammit. He couldn’t show up and throw the setup into chaos. If there was a problem, Blockman could handle it.

  Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he wasn’t in Tallanville. Maybe he’d hired someone to leave the photo.

  And pigs could fly. Even if that warning hadn’t been delivered in person, he wasn’t a man who’d let anyone else handle a dangerous situation that concerned Grace Archer.

  He had no choice but to call Bill Crane, his superior, and tell him Kilmer was probably back on the scene. Hell, Crane was one of the new wonder boys who’d been brought in after 9/11. He’d bet Crane didn’t even know Kilmer existed.

  Well, he was about to learn. North wasn’t going to handle this hot potato by himself. Wake the wonder boy up and make him see what he could do with Kilmer.

  He quickly dialed the number and waited with malicious satisfaction for the ringing to jar Crane from sleep.

  2

  The tires of Charlie’s truck rattled the loose wooden slats of the old bridge as he started across the river. He’d been meaning to fix those slats. . . .

  Almost home.

  Charlie turned the radio up as a Reba McEntire song came on. He’d always liked her. Pretty lady. Pretty voice. Maybe country music wasn’t as deep as the stuff Frankie wrote, but it made him feel comfortable. No reason why he couldn’t like both.

  The rain was splashing hard against the windshield and he turned the wipers on full blast. He didn’t need to cope with rain as well as being tipsy. Getting old sucked. Two drinks and he was woozy. He used to be able to drink all his buddies under the table and still be clearheaded enough to—

  His cell phone rang, and it took a minute to get it out of his pocket. Robert. He shook his head and smiled as he punched the button. “I’m fine. I’m almost home and I’ll thank you to not treat me like a doddering—”

  Something was on the road directly ahead.

  Light!

  Grace was still not sleeping when her cell phone rang on the bedside table.

  Charlie? She hadn’t heard his truck and he sometimes stayed with Robert if he drank too much.

  “Mom?” Frankie murmured drowsily.

  “Shh, baby. It’s okay.” She reached over her daughter and picked up the phone. “Charlie?”

  “Get out of there, Grace.”

  Robert.

  She sat bolt upright in bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. And there’s no time to explain. North told me to come out there, and I’m on my way. But I might be too late. Get out of there.”

  “Charlie?”

  He was silent a moment. “He was on his way home. I talked to him a few minutes ago. I lost him. I think something happened.”

  “What? Then I have to go find—”

  “I’ll find him. You get yourself and Frankie out of there.”

  “What’s wrong?” Frankie was sitting up in bed. “Is Charlie okay?”

  Oh, God, she hoped so, but she had to trust Robert. She had to take care of Frankie. “You find him, Robert. And if you’re having me take Frankie out in this storm for no reason, I’m going to strangle you.”

  “I hope there’s no reason. Keep in touch.” Robert hung up.

  “Charlie?” Frankie whispered.

  “I don’t know, baby.” She flung off the covers. “Go to your room and get your tennis shoes. Don’t turn on the light and don’t bother getting dressed. We’ll grab a rain poncho in the mudroom downstairs.”

  “Why am I—”

  “Frankie, don’t ask questions. We don’t have time. Just trust me and do what I tell you. Okay?”

  Frankie hesitated. “Okay.” She jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. “I’ll be quick.”

  Bless her. Most kids jarred from sleep in the middle of the night would have been too scared to even function.

  Grace went to the closet and pulled out her knapsack from the top shelf. She’d packed this knapsack eight years ago and updated the contents periodically. She hoped the clothes she’d packed for Frankie would still fit. . . .

  She was unfastening the lockbox she’d put in the knapsack when Frankie ran back in the room. “Good. You were very quick. Go to the window and see if it’s still raining so hard.”

  While Frankie was crossing the room, Grace took out the gun and dagger. She quickly stuffed them and the papers she’d placed in the box eight years ago in the front pocket of the knapsack, where they were readily available.

  “Maybe the rain’s a little lighter.” Frankie was looking out the window. “But it’s so dark it’s hard to see— Oh, there’s someone with a flashlight coming across the yard. Do you think it’s Charlie?”

  It wasn’t Charlie. Charlie knew every inch of his farm and wouldn’t need a flashlight. “Come on, baby.” She grabbed her arm and pulled her down the stairs. “We’re going out the kitchen door. Be very quiet.”

  A sound of metal on metal at the front door. She inhaled sharply. She had jimmied too many locks herself not to know that sound.

  She had changed Charlie’s flimsy locks when she came here, but it wouldn’t take an expert long to break in. And if they couldn’t force the lock, then they’d find another way.

  “Out,” she whispered, and pushed Frankie toward the kitchen.

  Frankie flew down the hall and threw open the kitchen door. She looked back at Grace, her eyes wide. “Robbers?” she whispered.

  Grace nodded as she grabbed a rain poncho for Frankie from the mudroom hooks, threw it to her, and then grabbed one for herself. “And there might be more than one. Head for the paddock and then the woods on the other side. If I’m not right behind, don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up.”

  Frankie was shaking her head.

  “Don’t say no to me,” Grace said. “What have I always taught you? You have to take care of yourself before you can take care of others. Now do what I say.”

  Frankie hesitated.

  Christ, Grace could hear the creak of the front door as it opened. “Run!”

  Frankie ran, streaking across the yard and into the paddock. Grace watched for a second, waiting. There was almost always a lookout man.

  She didn’t have to wait long. A tall man had come around the house and was running after Frankie.

  She took off after him.

  No gun. She didn’t want to bring the others in the house out here.

  Run. The rain and thunder would mask the sound of her f
ootsteps behind him.

  She reached him as he entered the woods.

  He must have heard the sound of her breathing. He whirled, gun in hand.

  She sprang, the side of her hand numbing the wrist of his gun hand. Then her dagger sliced across his jugular. She didn’t watch him fall to the ground. She turned, searching the shadows. “Frankie?”

  She heard a low sobbing. Frankie was huddled at the base of a tree a short distance away. “It’s okay, baby. He can’t hurt you now.” Grace fell to her knees beside her. “But we have to leave. We have to run. There are others.”

  Frankie’s hand reached out and touched a smear on Grace’s poncho. “Blood. There’s blood . . . on you.”

  “Yes. He would have hurt you. He would have hurt both of us. I had to stop him.”

  “Blood . . .”

  “Frankie . . .” She stiffened as she heard a shout from across the paddock. She stood up and pulled Frankie with her. “I’ll talk to you about it later. They’re coming. Now do what I say and run. Let’s go.”

  She half-pulled Frankie deeper into the woods. After only a few steps Frankie was running, stumbling with her through the brush.

  Where to hide? She had scoped out and planned bolt-holes in these woods over the years. Choose one.

  She couldn’t count on Frankie being able to keep this pace for long. She was a child and almost in shock. Grace had to find a close place to hide and wait them out. Robert was on his way.

  Or at least find a way to hide Frankie. She could decide after she saw how many were after her whether she could handle the situation alone.

  The blind.

  Charlie had a hunting blind in a tree not far from here. He hadn’t used it for years, claiming he couldn’t climb the damn tree anymore.

  Well, she could climb. And Frankie was as agile as a monkey.

  “The blind,” she gasped. “Get to the blind, Frankie. Hide there.”

  “Not without you.”

  “I’m coming.”

  Frankie glared back at her. “Now.”

  “Okay, now.” Grace grabbed her hand and tore through the underbrush. The wet foliage slapped her in the face and her tennis shoes sank deep in the mud with every step.