The Target

12

EMMA WAS JUMPING out of her skin she was so excited. She started playing the two-octave piano as soon as she saw it, Ramsey standing just behind her, so surprised he couldn't speak.

She was playing a Mozart Sonata that had been the title song to an old film called Elvira Madigan.

All the salespeople in the toy store were beginning to gather around along with children and their parents.

No one was saying anything, just watching Emma play on that little excuse for a piano and listening to the incredible music she was making.

He looked over at Molly. He could see that she was humming to herself along with Emma's playing. She looked as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

He bought the piano. The saleswoman said, "It's a pity she can't have a regular piano. She's quite talented. How long has she been playing?"

Molly answered. "Since she was just three. We're vacationing here and forgot to bring her portable piano. We'll make do nicely with this one."

"Amazing," the saleswoman said. "Just amazing. You've got a lovely, talented little girl."

Ramsey nodded. "Yes, she is amazing."

He felt Emma's hand slip into his. He hugged her against his leg, which was feeling nearly back to normal again. He was down to about four aspirin a day. He wondered if Emma remembered her nightmare. He wanted to ask her about it but thought better of it. No, they needed to talk to a professional. He realized he could call and get a reference.

He said low to Molly when he opened the car door, "Do you think Emma's doing okay?"

"I don't know. I haven't asked her. After last night, I'm more afraid than before."

"I could probably find out the name of a local shrink, one who deals only with children. What do you think?"

She chewed on that so hard he could practically see her thinking. Finally, she shook her head. "We don't dare take a chance. I think that for the time being we should just keep her close and let her know she's safe."

But she knew Emma wasn't safe from those terrifying dreams. Molly forced a frown because she wanted to cry.

He nodded, still uncertain. He looked into the backseat of the Toyota. Emma was holding the big box with her piano inside really close. Her eyes were closed. What was she thinking? Or was she just playing music in her mind? He prayed it was music there and nothing else, at least for the time being.

He noticed the Honda Civic a half mile from the shopping center. There weren't many cars on 89, the only road to Lake Tahoe from Truckee. It was another seven miles, give or take a mile, to Alpine Meadows Road, their turnoff. He didn't say anything, just kept checking every couple of minutes in the rearview mirror.

Finally, when he was certain they were being followed, he said quietly, "Molly, look back and see if you can get the license plate number on the Civic two cars behind us. It's fairly new and gray. Be as discreet as you can. We don't want them to notice us looking."

She didn't even change expression, but he saw the panic in her eyes, followed by a hard coldness, the look she'd given him when she'd burst into the cabin that first morning.

She looked back at Emma. She was staring out the window, her piano box still hugged to her chest. She didn't appear to have overheard them.

They were nearly to their turnoff when she could finally make out the license. "It's F A R B three-three-three. That's too easy. Are you sure they're following us? It's a ridiculous plate."

"No. But I'm not about to take any chances. You got your gun?"

"Oh yes. What do you want to do?"

"Let's turn and see what they do. It's two guys, right?"

"As best I can make out. They're being really careful to hang back. I can't tell yet if it's the same two guys. My cell phone is at home getting recharged."

"That's all right. We'll call in the number as soon as we get home." If we go home hung silently in the air between them.

Emma said, "Ramsey, I can make out an A and an R in the license. I remember those letters really well.

They're in our names. I need another reading lesson."

He looked at Molly, who just said, "That's great, Em. I got the A and the R, too. F and B are tougher letters. We'll make up words this evening so you can learn them."

"We shouldn't have gone out for my piano. That's how they got us. It's all my fault." Her small face was pale.

Ramsey said clearly, "Nothing is your fault. Don't say that again or I'll have to keep you away from hot dogs for a week. Don't be afraid, Emma. We'll take care of you."

"Listen to me, Emma," Molly said, turning in the front seat to face her daughter. "If anyone tries to get you again, I'll shoot them, even if it's the president. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Make sure your seat belt's tight."

"Yes, Ramsey."

They turned right onto Alpine Meadows Road. The River Ranch Motel was sprawled out on the left-hand corner, a landmark for some time, a ski shop of nearly equal age on the right. It looked closed down. There was still some spring skiing, but not enough to lure more than half a dozen cars into the parking lot of the River Ranch Motel. He prayed the car wouldn't turn right after them.

The day was bright and would warm to about sixty degrees. Ramsey said, "Hey, Emma, you want to go hiking with me this afternoon? We might get lucky and see some neat wildlife-foxes, deer, lots of birds, rabbits."

The clothes he'd bought her were perfect. He was trying to distract her, but it wasn't working. "You game, Molly?"

"Maybe. We'll see. Are you hungry, Emma?"

"I don't know, Mama. I'm still trying to see the men in that car. Do you think they're the same men who were in Colorado, at that restaurant?"

"I don't know," Molly said. "They're not close enough to tell yet."

Ramsey looked behind him. The car had turned, dammit. There wasn't another car between them now.

They were hanging back about forty yards. "Okay, they're after us. I'm going all the way down to the ski resort. There's a big turnaround. Then we'll head to Tahoe City. It's only a couple of more miles east. I'm not about to let them get anywhere near our house."

He saw that Molly had taken her Detonics out and was holding it loosely by her leg. He'd put his Smith

& Wesson underneath the front seat, loaded and ready to go. There were only about fifty cars at the ski resort and a couple of dozen four-wheel-drive vehicles parked up close to the ticket windows. The snow already looked slushy. The people who were here were either really serious skiers, or didn't know better.

He slowly drove by the front of the resort, making the large lazy circle back onto Alpine Meadows Road, heading back toward the main road again.

The Honda Civic paused at the row of ticket windows, but didn't stop. He knew they wouldn't stop. He wondered if they knew they'd been spotted.

He gunned the Toyota as soon as they got back onto the road. When they got to the intersection with Highway 89, he took a right toward Tahoe City. No one had said a word.

He was thinking about how the hell he could lose the Honda behind them in very small touristy Tahoe City with its endless restaurants, ski rental shops, and souvenir kiosks. There was a shopping center. It was good sized. There were walkways all around the indoor center. He didn't know where most of them led, but he was fairly certain he could get them lost there.

It was on the right, he remembered, as you drove into town. He'd have to get rid of the Toyota. Pity, but no choice now. He didn't see them behind him for the moment. He turned into the huge parking lot and eased the Toyota right up front.

"Out. Quickly!"

He grabbed Emma's piano and they were through the shopping center doors in five seconds. "Go directly out the back, Molly. There's a walkway out there. Take the nearest one to the back door. I'll be with you in just a second."

There were just a handful of people in the shopping enclosure. He saw Molly weave her way through, Emma pressed against her side, moving as quickly as they could.

He didn't need to wait long before the Honda pulled around. They saw the Toyota and stopped. It was all he needed to know. He was out the back door in ten seconds, several unhappy people behind him.

He took the nearest walkway and started running. He caught them behind a small Louisiana-type restaurant.

"Molly, you and Emma go into this restaurant and stay in the bathroom. In five minutes, I'll pull up out front. Be there. Five minutes, by your watch."

He ran back toward the shopping center. He didn't see them. He walked quickly around the north side, into the parking lot. There was the Honda, double-parked right out front. It was empty.

He smiled.

Four and a half minutes later, he was in front of the restaurant, and Molly was opening the passenger side.

"Excellent. Emma, you all set back there?"

"Yes, Ramsey. My piano's okay, too." She was hugging that box so tightly her knuckles were white.

It was hard to smile, but he managed it. "Hold on, kiddo. We're outta here."

"Will they follow?"

He looked over at Molly as he pulled back onto 89. "No, they're going to be a while. I took the distributor cap. They probably have a cell phone and will make some calls. Since they know where we are, we can't take the chance of going back to the house."

They were on Highway 80 ten minutes later, heading west.

"We never got to hike, Ramsey."

"We will, Emma, we will."

THEY drove over the Golden Gate Bridge three hours and thirty-five minutes later. The day was sharp and clear, a picture-postcard day. The fog was just beginning to curl through the arches of the bridge.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Ramsey?"

"I don't know, but I'm tired of running. My base is here, Molly. It's time we got help. We discussed this before. You didn't disagree."

"But the men who are after us, surely they'll find out who you are very soon. When they find out, they'll be on us like a shot."

He cursed under his breath. "You're right. I'll just bet they already know what I like to eat for breakfast.

Okay. Let's just stop at my house so I can change, pack, and make arrangements. We'll fly to your father this afternoon. Sorry, Molly, but I just can't see any other choice unless you want to go to the cops right here in San Francisco."

"No." Molly cursed under her breath. "There's just no good alternative, is there? Let's go to Chicago, then. I'd still rather have her with me than being questioned by police psychologists, hordes of cops, not to mention the FBI. If Special Agent Anchor is representative, then the FBI is scary."

"He's not representative. All right, let's go to Chicago. When the time is right to bring in the cops, we can call them from there."

"I probably should have gone to him sooner. My old man's got more ability to protect Emma than the cops and the FBI. He may be a big criminal, but he'll do his best to keep Emma safe."

"All right, then. Let's use your father, if he'll let us. We'll let him keep Emma safe."

She closed her eyes a moment, then nodded to herself, coming to a decision. Then she smiled as she said to Emma, "Look over there, Em. It's Alcatraz Island. It was a prison for really bad guys until sometime in the 1950s."

"It's pretty. I wouldn't mind being a prisoner there."

"I read they fed the prisoners about six thousand calories a day, to make them fat, so they'd be less likely to try to escape and swim to shore. I think it was a whole lot of hot dogs and beans. They didn't let them exercise much."

Emma's eyes brightened.

He grinned at her in the rearview mirror. "They didn't cook them on hangers in a fireplace, Emma. They were boiled."

"Yuck."

Ramsey turned onto Scenic Drive in a beautiful old section bf the city called Sea Cliff. "We're the closest houses to the bay. My house is number twenty-seven, right there on the end."

"I knew federal judges must be paid pretty well, but not that well. This place must have cost a bundle, Ramsey."

"It's worth quite a lot, but I didn't buy it. It was bequeathed to me by my grandparents along with a nice inheritance. I'm not as rich as you, but I won't starve. The views are incredible. We'll come back, Emma, and barbecue. We can sit in the backyard and watch the fog roll in. It floats through the Golden Gate Bridge like soft white fingers. I've always loved the fog. I've even got a piano for you, an old baby grand that my grandfather played. He was a great old man."

Ramsey's nose twitched the instant he unlocked the front door and stepped into the tiled foyer. It smelled like rotten food, but that didn't make any sense. He stepped into the living room and quickly stepped back.

The room had been trashed. His high-tech stereo equipment was ripped open and stomped on. CDs were strewn all over the hardwood floor. All the furniture had been slashed. He walked numbly into the kitchen. The stench was pretty bad.

The refrigerator door stood open. Someone had flung food all over the floor, not that there'd been very much. Dishes were smashed, in shards everywhere. Drawers were pulled out, silverware all over the floor. A violent hand had simply swept everything out of the cabinets.

"Don't come in here, Emma," he said.

"Oh no," was all Molly said from the doorway, holding Emma back.

It took him only minutes to see that whoever had done this hadn't forgotten a single room.

He walked into his study, a magnificent dark oak-paneled room that looked toward the Marin Headlands. His antique rolltop desk had been gouged, the drawers pulled out and smashed, all his papers in shredded heaps everywhere. Books lay in broken piles on the Tabriz carpet. His favorite leather chair had been ripped open with a knife. His grandfather's baby grand piano had its legs sawed off. It lay drunkenly on its side, most of the keys stomped in. Someone had even cut the piano wires.

Devastation everywhere.

What had they been looking for? Something to tie him to Molly and Emma?

"I'm sorry, Ramsey," she said at his elbow. "I'm really very sorry. We brought this to you."

He realized then what she'd said, the full impact of it. He turned slowly, took her upper arms in his big hands, and said, "I was feeling equal parts enraged and sorry for myself. But now, after what you just said, I realize that this place, no matter how nice, is still just a place. When we get the person responsible for this, I look forward to kicking his butt, but Emma means more to me than a pile of stupid possessions.

There's no contest. Do you understand me, Molly?"

She nodded. "I just don't understand why someone would do this. They could have just searched, if they wanted to find some sort of connection between us. They didn't have to destroy everything."

"I don't understand either, but we're going to find out."

"I hope so." She leaned down and picked up an atlas, its pages ripped, the spine broken. She tried to smooth the pages. She looked numb.

He gently took the book from her. "Help me pack, then we're out of here. I'll make some phone calls from a pay phone." But there weren't any undamaged clothes left. Even his leather luggage, a Christmas present from his folks, was mutilated.

Ramsey made four calls from a public phone on the corner of California and Gough. The first was to a cleaning service, the second was to Dillon Savich, the third was to an airline, and the fourth was to Virginia Trolley of the San Francisco Police Department. He made one stop: his bank.

"Let's go," he said, grinning at Emma as he came out of the bank. "This is going to be exciting, kiddo. At least now I'm as rich as your mama." He handed her a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep this, Emma. Tuck it away somewhere safe."

Molly gave him a quizzical look but didn't say anything, just watched her daughter very carefully fold the twenty-dollar bill and slip it inside her piano.

"I think I've had enough exciting things happen, Ram-sey," Emma said and hugged her piano to her chest.

Molly said, "Maybe we can buy her some more clothes at the airport."

Ramsey frowned. "I'm thinking. I don't remember any kids' clothes there. T-shirts, but that's about it. We don't have time to stop. We'll get her a new T-shirt at the airport, and work on her wardrobe in Chicago.

Ours, too, for that matter."