The Protector

3

They drove. Because of increased security at airports due to terrorist threats, Cavanaugh was leery about trying to get to Carmel by air. At the numerous checkpoints, he would have had to show a picture ID, but Edgar had taken the fake driver's license and credit cards that Karen had created for him. Moreover, Rutherford and the FBI presumably had an alert out for persons resembling Jamie and him. Everything considered-the ease of traveling with weapons was another factor-driving had a lot to recommend it.

Plus, it gave Cavanaugh a further chance to heal. To passing drivers, the Taurus seemed just another car on the road with an ordinary couple inside, although injuries to the man's face indicated that he had recently been in some sort of accident. Those injuries probably explained why the man was letting his beard grow.

Interstate 80 took them through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Iowa.

In Nebraska, studying the flat open countryside, Cavanaugh said, "Reminds me of Oklahoma."

"Oh?"

"I spent a couple of years there as a kid."

Curious, Jamie glanced at him.

"My father had the bad luck to drill oil wells after the boom was over."

He hesitated.

"I had a dog. Nothing fancy. A mutt. About the size of a miniature collie."

Jamie studied him, waiting for him to continue.

"My dad and mom and I moved around a lot while my dad looked for work. Sometimes the only job he could get was the most dangerous. Once, when I was a kid, I saw him put out an oil-well fire. He wore a suit that made him look like an astronaut. He used a bulldozer and dynamite. Afterward, he got drunk. He did that a lot. He came home that night and argued with my mom. When I tried to keep him from hitting her, he hit me. Then my dog starting barking, so my dad showed everybody who was boss and kicked the dog to death."

The only sounds became the drone of the engine and the hum of the tires.

"My mom left him after that," Cavanaugh said. "It took a lot of courage for her to face up to his anger. She and I were even poorer than when we'd been with him. But somehow she made do, found a decent man, even managed to send me to pretty good schools. I think my mom and my stepfather expected I'd be a lawyer or something. But I had too much anger in me. I wanted to get even for all the beat-up moms and kicked-to-death dogs in the world, so I joined the Army and went through special-operations training. I had plenty of chances to put terrorists and other bullies out of business. But I realized I eventually had to plan ahead. There's not much a special-ops soldier can do with his skills in civilian life. Become a mercenary, work for the CIA, join law enforcement, or get into private security. When one of my former Delta Force instructors offered me a job as a protector, I jumped at it. I guess it's not hard to understand why. I've got a thing about victims. I'm still trying to help my mother. I'm still trying to protect my dog."

Jamie finally spoke. "That's the longest I've ever heard you talk about your past. In fact, it's one of the few times you've ever talked about your past."

"Prescott pretended to be a victim and turned out to be a bully. Because of him, now I'm afraid of bullies. I won't let him get away with it."

Driving through Wyoming, neither of them commented when they passed an exit that would have taken them north to the Teton Range, to Jackson Hole and their home.