The Return of Cassandra Todd Page 10

  Turner watched as she breathed slowly, her profile outlined against the car window. And he contemplated the dramatic turn his life had taken.

  Three days ago he had been living a quiet life as a student at Red Rocks Community College and handyman at the Mountain View Motel. Homework assignments and handyman tasks had been his primary focus. But they had been displaced by the arrival of Cassandra and Justin, whose safety was now his primary focus.

  A husband—a very angry husband—existed. Brad Duncan was a force to be reckoned with. And so were the other two men. They posed a serious threat to Turner’s life as a handyman and college student. But they posed more of a threat to Cassandra and Justin, and armed with that knowledge he drove on.

  Highway 24 intersected with I-70, and Turner took the exit, west. In order to keep the car at a constant speed, he pushed harder on the accelerator as the landscape tilted heavenward. The sky became overcast, hiding the sun, and the highway stretched ahead like silvery-black wire uncoiling in the distance before disappearing over the next rise.

  He glanced into the backseat to check on Justin.

  The little boy had a thumb stuck in his mouth and was playing with the monkey’s tail. Turner was glad he’d come across the stuffed toy in the maintenance room. Whatever child had left it behind had done Justin a great service.

  Turner kept an eye on the gas gauge, which registered three-quarters of a tank. He was familiar with I-70 and knew that service stations were spaced conveniently along the route, but he was reluctant to stop for fear of waking Cassandra, and so he drove on.

  His cell phone vibrated a short time later. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the display. Maybe it was Loretta calling to see how they were doing. Or perhaps it was Mary calling to give him an update.

  It wasn’t.

  A deep male voice said, “You lied to me.”

  It took him a moment to recognize Brad’s voice.

  Glancing over at Cassandra to make sure she was still asleep, he murmured, “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  Turner felt his heart rate quicken.

  “You disappoint me, Pancake.”

  “It’s not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” Turner replied, straining to keep his voice steady.

  “We’ll see about that. Think you can get away with this? You were a loser in high school, and you’re still a loser. And when I get my hands on you . . . ” He left the thought dangling, like the end of a broken finger or a partially severed ear.

  Turner’s bravado flickered. He had been a loser in high school. And Brad had done some cruel things to him. He glanced over at Cassandra again and remembered the bruises on her back and arms. They bore testimony of what Brad’s hands were capable of doing. And Turner could only imagine what he’d look like after Brad got through with him.

  “It’s kidnapping now, Pancake. Taking my son and running was a big mistake.”

  At the thought of Justin, Turner squeezed the steering wheel hard. This wasn’t high school now, and he wasn’t going to be bullied by Brad anymore. “You left us no choice,” he replied.

  “Us,” Brad hissed, hurting Turner’s ear with the force of his reply. “So you bought in to her story? Well, you’ve left me no choice, either. You’re a dead man. You hear me? A dead man.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Turner snapped and ended the call.

  He seethed as they drove deeper into the mountains. It felt good to stand up to Brad, even though he had the luxury of doing it long distance. But as his anger began to cool, it was replaced by a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. And the words dead man began to echo in his head.

  CHAPTER 18

  ALTHOUGH RELUCTANT TO stop, Turner was forced to pull over to answer the call of nature. His conversation with Brad and the large Coke he’d consumed had finally caught up to him.

  He slowed like a plane approaching the runway. Easing the Buick off to the side of the road, he hoped to coast to a stop, relieve himself, and taxi back onto the road again without disturbing Cassandra.

  The sun peeked through the cloud cover, lifting the dullness like a thick curtain being pulled open. The world was reborn before his eyes, and the trees cast elongated shadows in celebration.

  As he braked to a stop and put the car in park, Justin leaned over the front seat and tapped him on the shoulder. “I want a drink,” he said, cradling the monkey under his arm.

  Turner rummaged through the sack of food they had brought with them from his apartment. His fingers brushed a water bottle, and he pulled it out. He undid the top with a single twist and handed it to Justin. The little boy nestled back in his seat and guzzled the water.

  Turner peered at Cassandra. She was still asleep, her head against the window, her hair pulled back around an ear as delicate as a rose blossom. The remnants of a relaxed smile graced the corners of her mouth.

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom, little man,” he whispered.

  “Do you?”

  The slurping sounds stopped long enough for Justin to say, “Nope.”

  Turner quietly opened his door. “Stay here,” he whispered.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He left the door slightly ajar and headed for a group of trees—nature’s outhouse. His eyes burned and he yawned deeply. The thought of curling up in a warm, comfortable bed was overpowering. He couldn’t wait to reach the cabin and head for the couch, or with luck, to an extra bed in a spare room.

  Before making his way back to the car, he paused to draw in a deep breath. This was the moment he had longed for, to be able to savor mountain air, fresh and tranquil. It contrasted with the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the motel, like an ominous cloud preceding a storm. The lush vegetation and the mountain solitude was a pleasant change from the cityscape of the greater Denver area.

  The serenity and tranquility vanished, however, the instant he returned to the car and discovered the back door wide open. A quick glance revealed that Justin was not in the backseat.

  As Turner scanned the area, he opened his mouth to call Justin’s name but thought better of it. That would awaken Cassandra.

  The clouds closed in and obscured the sun again, and the setting became eerily quiet and foreboding. Dropping to one knee, he examined the ground carefully. No footprints were visible, but there were some scuff marks as though Justin had fallen when he climbed out of the car. Because it was overcast, Turner had difficulty observing any indentations in the forest floor. But the displacement of pine needles, the occasional broken twig, and some compressed grass the size of a small footprint led away from the car.

  Resorting to a tracking technique he’d learned at Camp Kopawanee, he poked a stick in the ground to mark the last disturbance in the pine needles. Then he walked in a circle around the stick until he picked up the trail again. He started off once more, following the signs that led toward an outcrop of rocks. A rotted tree stump stood nearby, and he took his bearings off it. He had to be careful not to concentrate so much on following the trail that he got lost himself.

  When the trail disappeared in the rocky landscape, he tried another tracking technique. He asked himself where he would go if he were the little boy. What object or formation might be interesting enough to investigate? What sounds might be enticing enough to explore?

  His eye caught a flash of movement, and he noticed a squirrel vault from one tree branch to another. A giggle came from an opening in the bushes ahead, and Turner hurried toward it.

  As he broke into a small clearing, he saw Justin standing at the base of a tree, gazing upward. Turner rushed forward and scooped him up in one motion.

  “I saw a funny squirrel,” the little boy said. “It jumped on the car and then ran away.”

  A squirrel had lured him from the car! If something that small could result in something this heart stopping, what protection was there against the truly big things? Turner didn’t pause to contemplate the thought t
hat suddenly flashed through his mind: divine protection.

  “It ran up the tree,” Justin said, pointing to a spot overhead.

  Turner resisted the urge to scold him. “Don’t follow squirrels without your mommy or me with you, okay?” He kept the sharpness out of his voice. The last thing he needed was for Justin to burst into tears.

  “It had a bushy tail, Turner.”

  “Yeah, bushy tail,” Turner muttered as he carried Justin back to the car and got him situated in the backseat. Then Turner climbed behind the wheel and put the car in gear.

  As he pulled back onto the road, he hit a rock on the shoulder and the car bounced, jolting Cassandra awake.

  “Are you still doing okay?” she said, rubbing her neck.

  “Great,” he replied. “Just had to make a pit stop.”

  “Mommy, I saw a squirrel,” Justin said excitedly. “It ran up a tree.”

  Turner began planning his explanation, but Cassandra just yawned and smiled back at her son. “That’s nice, sweetie,” she said.

  Exhaling slowly, Turner drove on in silence, chastened. He had let his guard down for only a moment, but that’s all it had taken for Justin to slip out of the car. He grimaced and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The experience was a wake-up call, and he promised himself not to make that mistake again. As long as that little boy was awake, he’d never let him out of sight. Ever.

  CHAPTER 19

  BY THE TIME they reached Silverthorne, the gas gauge registered half a tank. The sun rode high above the mountain peaks that surrounded the community as Turner pulled into a 7-Eleven.

  Cassandra took Justin to the bathroom while Turner filled up the car and bought some groceries for their stay at the cabin. Along with the groceries, he also purchased a notepad and some colored markers. If they were going to batten down the hatches for a few days at the cabin, they would need something to entertain Justin beyond the textbooks and study notes Turner had brought with him. The food items would sustain life; the notepad and markers would maintain sanity.

  Turner used cash for the gasoline and the store items, not wanting to leave a paper trail that Slick and Twitch could follow. He was well aware of their ability to track them. The two men were undoubtedly graduates of the Academy of Thugs, Goons, and Wise Guys, perhaps with a minor in clairvoyance and divination. They had traced Cassandra to the Mountain View Motel and to Mary’s house. It was an intense game of cat and mouse, and there was no question in Turner’s mind about who was who.

  While waiting for Cassandra and Justin, he picked up a local newspaper and absentmindedly thumbed through it. He could imagine the front page screaming: Boy Kidnapped by Mother and Handyman. Of course it was too soon for news of their escape to make the headlines, but it might only be a matter of time if Brad chose to turn the matter into a media frenzy. But then Brad might not want an investigation, which would turn up the skeletons in his closet.

  “You want the newspaper too?” the clerk asked, glancing at a sign that said Please Do Not Read the Magazines.

  “No, I was just checking the weather.”

  “Continuing daylight, with a chance of darkness by nightfall,” the clerk said dryly.

  “Thanks,” Turner remarked. “Good meteorologists are so hard to find these days.”

  Cassandra emerged with Justin in tow. Turner headed for the car, with Cassandra right behind, holding tightly to her son's hand.

  Turner felt a sense of accomplishment in getting this far. They had a full tank of gas, several bags of groceries, and breathing room. He hadn’t completely handled things with the skills worthy of an experienced camp counselor, but at least the threat was behind them.

  The good feeling suddenly disappeared like yesterday’s bank rates.

  A police cruiser appeared and his throat went dry. He kept his smile frozen in place, doing his best to look like a happily married father and husband, which required some serious playacting, since he had no personal experience in this area.

  Cassandra seemed on edge too, and Turner could tell she was staring at the patrol vehicle, despite her attempts to act casually.

  “Keep walking,” he said, talking through clenched teeth, as if the officer might be able to read lips.

  The police officer drove by without giving them a backward glance.

  Turner looked around to see if anyone eyed them suspiciously. But the customers went about their business, oblivious to them.

  They climbed in the car, and he started the engine. After easing away from the pumps, he pulled onto the road, remaining a respectful distance behind the police cruiser. He didn’t want to give the officer a good look at their car in case an alert had been issued regarding a stolen silver 1992 Buick Century. Turner had no idea what tricks Slick might pull out of his bag.

  They turned at the next intersection, parting ways with the police cruiser. Turner began breathing easier as it disappeared behind a row of storefronts. The trees on either side of the road thickened, adding to his sense of security.

  “How can stopping at a gas station be such a hairy experience?” Cassandra said. “I felt like everyone was staring at us. And the police officer! Where did he come from?”

  “He just happened to be driving by, minding his own business. No harm done.”

  She reached across and took Turner’s hand. Her skin felt cold, and he realized how tense they both were. He kept his hand stationary, wondering how long she would hold it. If holding hands comforted her, he was willing to oblige, even though she was a married woman. But he cautioned himself not to read too much into her simple gesture. Making a romantic mountain out of a platonic molehill would only complicate things further.

  The moment ended when she finally slipped her hand out of his and picked up the paper containing the directions to the cabin. “Take the next left,” she said.

  He slowed and turned left onto a narrow, gravel road that wound through an uphill slope. Tree branches brushed against the sides of the car, and he hoped the paint job didn’t get scratched. Otherwise Loretta might never cook for him again. He hugged the center of the roadway as though driving on a precipitous ledge intended only for mountain goats and Sherpa guides.

  They traveled for what seemed like miles. Then Turner made another left turn and the road leveled out. Soon a clearing appeared ahead, and Cassandra caught her breath as they entered it.

  “It’s like looking through the peephole of an enchanted door,” she said.

  Justin said it more simply. “Wow!”

  Nestled in amongst the pine trees sat a quaint cabin. The cedar siding appeared to have been recently painted, and the brown tin roof looked relatively new. A covered porch with wooden railings extended across the front of the cabin, where two rocking chairs sat side by side.

  A lake was visible through a gap in the trees. A path led from the cabin and descended the gentle slope, ending at a small dock. Several craggy mountain peaks jutted above the tree line, and the blue sky accentuated the peace and tranquility of the setting.

  Turner parked in front of the cabin.

  “It looks to be in better condition than I had expected,” Cassandra said as they climbed out of the car. “I had visions of the cabin being run-down, with cobwebs and overgrown shrubs. But it looks so cozy.”

  A thick carpet of pine needles led to the porch, where a welcome mat sat cheerily in front of the door. The curtains were closed; and a broom, a dustpan, and a shovel hung on the wall.

  Two wooden pots, filled with artificial flowers, sat on either side of the front door. Under the container on the left was a key to the cabin. Relieved that the key was truly there—Cassandra had expressed a concern that it wouldn’t be, necessitating a break-and-enter scenario—he unlocked the door.

  The hinges creaked as the door swung open, and a musty smell greeted them. Cassandra went directly into the living room, parted the curtains, and opened the windows. A gentle cross breeze filtered through the room, displacing the stuffy air. Justin ran from room to room, e
xploring.

  The cabin was fully furnished, as a quick tour of their new accommodations proved. The living room had a couch and an easy chair, with a TV-DVD combo centered between the windows. A wood-burning fireplace, with a natural rock front, occupied the far wall. An oak table and four matching chairs were in the adjoining dining room. The kitchen cupboards were stocked with cookware, although the fridge was empty, except for several bottles, the contents of which were suspect enough to cause no interest. Two bedrooms, each containing a queen-sized bed, were on the right side of a narrow hallway. A bathroom, a small laundry room, and a third bedroom were on the left. In every respect the cabin offered more room and amenities than did Turner’s apartment. They had just been upgraded to the penthouse suite, complete with authentic images of nature, visible through the windows.

  Turner selected the bedroom closest to the front door. His rationale was that if anyone arrived unheralded in the night, they would have to get by him first.

  He set his suitcase next to the bed and lay down on the mattress to test its firmness. His eyes were on fire, but he forced himself back out to the car for the groceries. There were several items that needed refrigeration.

  As he walked from the car back to the cabin, he surveyed the yard. Because the cabin was set back in the trees, he realized someone could approach on foot without detection. He wouldn’t have minded a couple of Doberman pinschers staked at either end of the cabin, with enough slack in the rope to run off any trespasser, whether it be hired goon or former high school football hero turned wife abuser. Because of the dense foliage, he would have to keep his guard up even more.

  When they were settled in, he and Cassandra gravitated to the rocking chairs on the front porch, while Justin distracted himself by chasing a dragonfly that happened to whisk by. The little boy tirelessly pursued it around the clearing but finally gave up when the insect flew away. Then he sat down in the pine needles and raked a pile together as though building a sand castle on the beach.