The Target

9

AFTER MOLLY SHOWED him a weighty wad of one-hundred-dollar bills and assured him she had lots more in her bra, Ramsey got them a junior suite at the Jerome, providing them a false name.and paying cash. They were shown to a huge single room filled with Victorian furniture, long red or gold fringe on the lamps, and wall-to-wall carpeting woven with big cabbage roses and copious vines. There was violent red wallpaper in the bathroom, which had been updated to a rich pink marble. The old with the new-it was a fascinating combination. There was a sitting area at one end of the big room, with the bed, dresser, and a couple of more chairs at the other. There were tall windows with rich velvet draperies. "I always wanted to stay here," Ramsey said, standing back. "I saw the place way back when I was a kid here on a ski break. It's something, isn't it?"

"Yes," Molly said. "They didn't have two beds? Just this king?"

"We're married, remember? Don't look at it too long, it'll make you bilious. Also, don't worry about it.

They're bringing up a cot for me." The spread was a bright blue velvet with red tassels that screamed Victorian Wild West.

Emma said, "What's 'bilious'?" "Bad liver stuff."

He saw her repeat the word a couple of more times beneath her breath. He smiled as he watched Molly go down on her knees and hug Emma until, suddenly, she squealed. Molly let her loose and the both of them began to laugh. "It's a game we play," Molly said. "If Emma can let me hug her for a whole minute without making a single sound, then she gets an ice cream. Actually, she usually wins. Are you feeling sorry for me, kiddo?"

"I just wanted to see you smile really big, Mama."

"Then you won the smile out of me."

Molly had a single duffel bag, Emma had her stuffed pillowcase, and Ramsey had two suitcases. He'd locked his mom's old Olivetti typewriter and all the pages he'd managed to write during his stay before Emma, and some books and novels in the Jeep. The hotel brought up a cot for him, too short, but he just shook his head at her when she would have protested.

Actually, Ramsey didn't care if he slept on the floor. His leg hurt like hell, he had a headache, and he felt as if he'd hit a brick wall. Molly looked as if she had her nose pressed against that same brick wall. She was standing in the middle of the room, running her hand through her rioting red hair.

He smiled. "You want me to give Emma a bath? No, I take that back. She can bathe herself."

"She's really not very good at it, but she does try." Molly grabbed Emma up and sniffed behind her ear.

"Smells sweet. You did a good job. You want me to bathe you this time, Em? Just for a change?"

Emma nodded happily.

Molly turned to Ramsey, who looked ready to fall over. "You just lie down. I'll bring you some aspirin.

Do you put an ice pack on the leg?"

"I hadn't thought of that. Why not?"

"Good. Lie down, Ramsey. I'll be right back."

After she'd watched him wash down three aspirin and she'd laid the ice wrapped in a towel over his bandaged leg, she said, "Do you mind if we don't go to the Cantina?"

"I'll see if they deliver."

They did, for a fifty-buck service charge. It was Aspen, he thought, as he ate a ten-dollar taco.

EXHAUSTION hit big time after they'd consumed a good half dozen beef tacos, and enough chips and salsa for a football team. Emma had some guacamole smeared on her chin when it was all over and she'd looked wonderful. She was asleep ten minutes later, next to her mother, just after they'd gotten her to brush her teeth.

She beat them to sleep by five minutes.

Molly awoke at midnight at the final stroke from a big grandfather clock in the corner out in the corridor.

There was a quarter moon sending a white shaft of light through the open window. It wasn't too cold, just cold enough to make you pull the covers to your chin and let the fresh air hit your face.

It was the first time she'd slept over three hours in more than two weeks. Sixteen days, she thought, suddenly sitting up just to look over to see Emma curled up into a ball, the pillow hugged to her chest, her beautiful hair, free of its braid, tangled about her head. She was safe.

She felt tears sting her eyes, felt them ooze out and slowly trickle over her cheeks. They'd been so very lucky. As it turned out, she hadn't been the important one in the equation, not that she'd ever really believed she actually would be.

Ramsey Hunt. He'd saved her daughter. He would have continued to protect her until he'd gotten her back safely.

The tears came more freely. She sobbed. Oh no, that was humiliating. She stuffed her fist into her mouth.

"Molly? It's okay."

How had he heard her? Emma was still sound asleep. He said quietly, "Cry, it's good for you. I'll bet this is the first time you've had the luxury to just let go. Think you can?"

She kept crying and he kept talking, saying nothing really, just nonsense. Then, "Mama, what's wrong?"

Emma sounded terrified.

Ramsey said quickly, "It's all right, Emma. Roll over and hug your mama. She's just crying because she's so relieved you're safe. She's been on the edge for a really long time. She's been really scared for you."

Molly was hiccuping, crying, and now laughing. Emma had wrapped her arms around her.

"I feel better now. Thanks, Em." She kissed her daughter's neck, and felt as happy as she'd ever felt in her life. In that instant, she remembered another moment, a long time ago, when she'd believed there was no way she could have been happier. It had been a lie.

The three of them went back to sleep, Ramsey's feet hanging off the end of the cot. It was Ramsey who woke near three o'clock in the morning.

Maybe he'd heard something. His brain was still turned inward to a pleasant dream. It was about Susan.

She was wearing her uniform and smiling. She saluted him, then poked him in the belly. Once he was fully awake, though, bittersweet memories flooded through him. Then suddenly, it all just faded back into time.

He wanted no more dreams about Susan.

He heard it again. Could they be that good?

Very slowly, he stood up. He saw that both Emma and Molly were still asleep. He heard only Molly's deep, even breathing. He was glad for that. He didn't want them frightened.

He stood up, felt his stiff leg lock on him, and grabbed one of the high chair backs. Not unexpected. He held very still and listened.

It was a shuffling sound. It was coming from the corridor, just outside their room door. He picked up his pistol from the small circular table beside the cot. He forced his leg to move, one step at a time, quietly, toward the door, pausing every few steps to listen.

He heard voices. No, it wasn't possible that it could be trouble. There was just no way they could have found out where they were. The hotel registration hadn't demanded an ID. There was no way anyone could know they were here. But they had seen the Jeep. They could have easily traced the license plate, or even spotted it coming into town. He cursed. He was an idiot. Tomorrow, he'd have to turn it in, maybe buy a used car, another Jeep, or any four-wheel-drive vehicle. He heard the voices again, too low for him to make out what they were saying.

He held his Smith & Wesson ready.

It was a man's voice, low and urgent, clear now. "Listen, Doris, you want to sneak back in there, you do it. But your old man could be awake even as we speak. I don't want him to blow my head off. No, don't go in there. If you do, just wait until I get out of here."

He leaned his head against the door, relief pouring through him. It was a wife screwing around on her husband.

It wasn't anybody after Emma.

He heard a woman's voice, with just a touch of hysteria in it. It would be better if she didn't try to sneak back in, he thought, but thank goodness, it wasn't any of his business. He silently checked the lock and the chain.

He laid the Smith & Wesson back on the circular table. When he turned to the cot, he saw Molly sitting up, staring toward him.

He whispered, "It's nothing, just a wife cheating on her husband."

Emma said in a sleepy voice, "It couldn't be him, could it, Ramsey? He didn't see really good. He didn't wear his glasses all of the time. That's how I got away. I made my pillow look like me when he was out smoking a cigarette on the front steps. When he came back, he looked for me, and thought he saw me. I crawled out the front door when he was drinking a glass of whiskey. He really liked whiskey. He kept saying he didn't like it, that it rotted his soul, but he drank it, lots of it."

"Oh God," Molly said. "Do you know his name, Em?"

But Emma folded, just shut down again, her breathing even and slow. She was sound asleep.

They looked at each other. Molly said, "What am I going to do?"

"I told you, Molly. I'm in for the long haul. Now the question is, what are we going to do? Tell you what.

We're both still too tired to think straight. I've got some ideas. We'll discuss it tomorrow."

She was shaking her head back and forth, her red hair moving in concert. "I can't go back to Denver. I'm never going back to Denver. I don't understand what's going on here. How many people are involved in this? Who are they? How, why, could Emma's kidnapping be a conspiracy?"

"Conspiracy," he repeated slowly. "Why do you call it a conspiracy?"

She shrugged, one corner of her sleep shirt falling off her shoulder.

"I guess kidnapping could end up being a conspiracy if the parents were in on it, or if it was done for another purpose. But you didn't mean that. Did you?"

"I just said the word. It seemed it might be possible. We already know about up to five different men."

"An elaborate scheme then. But a conspiracy? That smacks of something darker, something beneath the surface. It just might mean it would involve people around you."

She was silent. He watched her pull up the shoulder of her sleep shirt. It said on the front: BIGFOOT WAS HERE. Her hair was corkscrewed and wild around her pale face. She looked inutterably weary.

And also very pretty, he thought, somewhat amazed that he'd noticed and here it was in the middle of the night. Her skin was very white, unlike his, with his olive skin tone. He wanted to put his hand on her, to compare the color difference between them. He was losing it. "Let's get some sleep. We're out of here tomorrow."

HE returned to the Jerome at noon. Molly and Emma were playing Old Maid seated cross-legged opposite each other, the card pile in the middle.

"No, don't get up. We're the proud owners of a 1989 Toyota 4Runner with lots of miles on it. It's a two-door model, on the beat-up side, but who cares? It's got four-wheel drive, nearly all the comforts of the Jeep."

He'd gotten the maximum cash allowed from AMEX and paid the car dealer in cash. He added, "Even if they've tracked down the Jeep, it'll take them a good long time to find it in that long-term parking lot over by the lift." But he knew they weren't safe, not by a long shot.

He said quickly, "It's time we checked out of here. Fifteen minutes okay with everybody? We shop and then we're heading west."

They'd spoken about it briefly that morning when they'd awakened. "It's just our next destination," Ramsey had said, "but it gets us closer to my home and my turf."

Molly had said quietly, afraid that Emma would awaken, "I know we can't stay here. Where west do you want to go?"

"Truckee. I know the area very well. Let's just get ourselves lost for the time being in the Sierras. I had a friend from college who lived on Lake Tahoe."

Molly didn't say anything more until she got him in the bathroom with the door shut, Emma in the bedroom packing her pillowcase.

He said, "Anyone with a brain could trace the money withdrawal from AMEX that I used to pay for the Toyota, and I think we've got professionals here. So our best bet is to get ourselves lost for the time being. The Sierras are beautiful and out of the way. Any problem with that?"

"I've never been to Lake Tahoe," she said, fiddling with a towel that was wadded up. She was methodically folding it, arranging it back on the rack.

"It's a little town, quaint, all rigged out for the skiers in the winter and the hikers in the summer. Emma'11 like it. It'll be safe."

She looked up at him. "How's your leg?"

"Better this morning. You and Emma were both standing over me when I took up the tape and gauze.

The skin's staying together, a good sign. The flesh is pink. Very little swelling. It just aches."

"You wouldn't lie to me?"

"Yes, but not about this."

"All right. Let's go." She turned away, her hand on the bathroom doorknob, and said over her shoulder, "You don't have to do this, you really don't. I have money. Not just the cash I showed you. I have lots of money, family money and money from my divorce from Louey. I could get Emma to safety."

"Don't, Molly. I couldn't leave Emma in danger."

She sighed as she twisted a corkscrew curl around her index finger. "I know."

She opened the bathroom door and walked out, calling, "Em, love, are you ready? Do you know what?

I'm going to buy you a duffel bag, just like mine."

"Can it be a Mingus Raiders duffel? Yours looks like a soldier's."

"Okay, Mingus Raiders it is." She said over her shoulder to Ramsey, "The Mingus cartoon good guys also include Mingus cartoon good girls. They're hot stuff."

THEY drove all that day and night, spelling each other, and reached Truckee the next evening at just after six o'clock. They spent that night at a Best Western Motel.

The next morning Ramsey went to a local realtor's office and looked over the rental houses available.

They didn't want a condo, too many people around, they told the woman. They were a family on vacation. They'd saved their money for this and didn't want to use credit cards.

If the woman didn't believe this, she didn't argue, just showed them properties. Emma fell in love with the third one, a small two-bedroom house that sat off by itself, backed against a forest and fronting a small creek. Tree-covered mountains rose all around it. Lake Tahoe was only about four miles distant. It was safe. Everyone was pleased.

They paid five hundred for the week, including the security deposit. They stocked up for a week at Food Giant.

When they returned to Nathan's Creek, it was well into the afternoon. Emma was asleep in Molly's arms.

Ramsey took her and carried her up to the larger of the two bedrooms.

When he met Molly downstairs in the kitchen, she handed him a glass of iced mineral water.

"Come in the living room," he said. "It's time."

"All right," she said. "You're right. It is time. We've got to do some talking and some planning."

He waited until she sat down in a big recliner that was well worn, a real guy's chair, then said, "Now, no more stalling. Who are you, Molly? What are you still keeping from me?"

"I know it's impossible that Emma's kidnapping has anything to do with what you don't know."

"Molly, I'm going to throw this water glass at you."

"I was Margaret Lord before I married."

He just stared at her, then breathed out hard. His leg started hurting.

"Shit," he said. "Your daddy is Mason Lord?"

JOE Elders loved those few precious minutes just before the sun arched up over the low-lying barren hills just a mile or so from his farm. He stood there, breathing in the fifty-degree air, filling his lungs, letting the silence and soft air fill him.

The sun struck his eyes with brilliant light and he smiled into it, closing them. He heard Millie moo. She was soon joined by half a dozen of her cousins. It was time to begin his day, and that meant milking his girls. He whistled as he walked to the cow barn, brand-new, just completed a month before, with all the new technology they told him would at least put him in the same ballpark as the big dairy outfits. And he'd had the money to pay for it all. He'd been smart, really smart. They hadn't taken advantage of him, no they hadn't. After his deal, he hadn't had to borrow anything. He paused, sniffing the air.

He could swear it was the sweet clinging scent of marijuana. He kicked one of the goat's favorite old chewing gloves out of his path. He cursed. It was pot he smelled. Nancy was smoking and carrying on again, and after she promised him and her mother that she would straighten up. Pot, of all things. She was sixteen years old, popular at school. He hoped she wasn't that popular. No, she was too young to really have the hots for any of the boys he'd seen around. But pot, hell and damnation.

He opened the barn door. He was greeted with a chorus of moos, most of them welcoming, a couple pissed, he could tell. They didn't like all the new equipment that relieved them of their milk.

Shirley was the one who hated the machines the most. Since she was one of his old girls, he'd decided just the week before to milk her himself. She enjoyed that, turning her head to look at him while he pulled on her teats.

He got all the other cows set up. It still took him a while. Well, he'd get better and faster at it soon. Then he took his old stool down to where Shirley was standing, still and fat with milk, watching him come closer.

"Good morning, old girl," he called out, giving her a wink like the one he'd given her every dawn for the past seven years.

He began to whistle as he set the stool down beside her. "Now, let's make you a couple of pounds lighter."

He heard a soft whooshing sound. It was close, real close. He wrenched around on the stool. There was a man standing over him. He was black, his eyes hard and wide, his head bald. Joe never even had a chance to ask the man who he was.

He felt a huge hand on his shoulder, and saw a big hammer part the air. He felt the blow throughout his body, but it wasn't exactly painful, just a numbing jarring that made his eyes blink once in surprise. The large hand released his shoulder.

Joe Elders fell beside Shirley's stool, his eyes staring up at her milk-swelled teats.