Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (20 page)

He starts using his hands to point while mouthing
the words, “You heard a noise?”

The baby cries again, so pitiful. “There, did you hear
it?”

Confusion, then a raised eyebrow. “The cat?”

“The kitten.”

He sighs and lays back. “How long did I sleep?”

“Less than two hours. Hayden, I’m sorry. You sat
here all night while I slept. And I can’t…” The kitten cries again. “I’m going
to look for it.”

“You won’t catch it.”

I reach for my sneakers anyway. “I have to try. I
can’t let him die out there.”

“He’s got a coat.” Hayden stretches and yawns.

“Maybe if he was older.” The meows become frantic
and quick again. “Listen, that’s not a cat singing in the night. That’s a
helpless, baby animal.”

“You’ll get fleas, probably worms,” he says.

“You want me to let him die so I don’t get dirty?”

He sits up, his lips pressed together.

“I’m sorry, Hayden, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“You really want to head out in the middle of the
night to look for some abandoned kitten that will run from you, and if we do
manage to trap it, we’ll probably end up contracting some kind of vermin?” He
says it gruffly, but I see a grin cross his lips before he ducks down and reaches
for his shoes.

“Thank you.” After I tie my shoe, I reach for my
backpack.

“Is that like your purse or something?”

“Yeah.” More like my life.

“You got anything to eat in there?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Now that he mentions it, I’m
pretty hungry too.

“We can go to the grocery store down the street
and get something. You’ll probably want to go and buy some flea poison anyway.
Milk. Maybe a cute little sweater and fluffy pillow for the critter.”

I don’t mind his teasing because he stands and
shoves the hotel key into his jeans. “Take my jacket again; you’ll get cold.”

He holds open the door and steps aside, so I can
walk through first. It is chilly. I’m glad for the jacket.

“Brr,” Hayden says, while he locks the hotel door.

I wear his coat. Is there no end to his giving? Warmth,
not from the jacket, rushes through my core. I slide my hand into his and lace
my fingers through. “Hayden?”

He stops and squeezes my hand. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

We follow the sounds of the kitten and end up
making a loop around the whole motel. A few times, one of us trips in the dark
and we giggle, holding hands and keeping each other steady. We reach our room
again without the kitten sounds to direct us. Maybe the baby doesn’t need help.
Maybe cats do just cry out in the night.

Meow.

Hayden dives under a parked car and his legs
wiggle in time with his grunts. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” I’d follow that
gentle coaxing if I were a cat.

One last mumble and he starts to back out from
under the car. In his right hand dangles a tuft of black and white striped fur.
“It is a little one.” He holds his arm out to me.

I take the handful, and feel the fragility of its
ribs, the soft fur and the tiny body. Tears fill my eyes. “It’s freezing out
here. Do you think someone abandoned it?”

Hayden puts an arm around me. “Or the momma cat
was moving her litter and she’ll come back looking for this last one. She’ll always
wonder what happened to it.”

His joke helps me not cry. We walk, his arm around
me, and the kitten under my jacket. Swaddled almost, the baby lays still and my
heat transfers. He quiets immediately.

“She’s going to be hard to take care of.” Hayden’s
voice seems tentative.

“Of course.”

“No, I mean, because she’s so young. You do
understand she might die.”

There is no way I’ll let that happen, but I nod
for Hayden’s sake.

“If she’s old enough to drink milk instead of
nurse, you’ll have a chance.” I look up quickly, not hiding my surprise. He
continues, “You will have to rub a wash cloth on her to make her go to the
bathroom. That what the mom does, she licks them. Otherwise, she won’t be able
to go. You’re going to have to do everything for it.”

“Can we use a bottle?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just get some milk, take it
back to the hotel and see if she’ll drink it.”

“It might be a boy.” I slide my hand in and rub
lightly from the kitty’s nose to between the ears.

“True.” He smiles down at me. My Hayden.

“I…” I hope he knows how much I need him.

His arm is still around my shoulders and he
tightens it. His face presses to the top of my head. A kiss on my hair. I leave
my head at his shoulder and walk uncomfortably, leaning crooked—just to be
close to him.

We visit the milk isle first. Hayden picks up and
sets down heavy cream, then half-and-half, and finally milk. “I don’t think we
want to feed her…or him this.” He smiles at me, “Let’s look at canned goat’s
milk. I think you’re actually supposed to mix yogurt and egg yolk, there’s a
thing you do for kittens this small.”

I’m glad he’s here, because I wouldn’t have
thought of any of this. I follow him, a half step behind. He grabs my hand, and
we walk together. I rub my thumb across his rough palm to memorize the feel. He
turns spontaneously down an aisle, and we walk past diapers. He selects a tiny
bottle.

“I’m not sure if it will work.” He smacks the
bottle against his palm several times.

Next, we get a can of goat’s milk, a box of
crackers, meat, cheese, a women’s fleece sweatshirt with zippered pockets, two
pair of gloves and two bottled juices.

“I forgot my wallet.” At the checkout counter,
Hayden sticks his hands in each pocket alternatively, as though it will
materialize. It won’t; I remember seeing it on the desk next to the bed.

“I have some money.” I maneuver my pack around, and
since I only have one hand available, I expect Hayden to offer to help. This is
the only time he has ever hesitated to anticipate my needs. I dig out the
little bit of cash I have. He doesn’t seem to want me to pay.

We have to put back the juice and most of the food
because I don’t have enough. But we keep the crackers. We also choose the
sweatshirt for me, so Hayden can have his jacket back, but no gloves for either
of us. Even then, the checker forgives fourteen cents with a wave of her hand.

“I’ll get it for ya.”

“We’ll come back in the morning,” he promises.

“Sure, sweetie.” But you can tell she doesn’t
really care, sometimes people surprise me with kindness.

I give Hayden his sweatshirt and tuck the kitty into
my pocket while Hayden packs the milk, bottle and crackers into my backpack.

“What should I name it?”

“Hold off on that.”

Hayden really doesn’t believe my kitten will live.
What was that saying Leah’s mom told me? Something about God knows when a sparrow
falls to the ground. I guess we’ll see.

We head back to the hotel, still holding hands. Only,
just as the row of rundown, motel rooms come into view—Hayden halts. By the
time my eyes focus on the white van, he’s pulling us into the shadows.

Brita’s killer makes a show of closing our motel
room door. He looks casual, like it’s his door, and he is just securing it. He
walks to the shiny Chevy van and climbs into the driver’s side.

“Nevada plates,” Hayden whispers.

The van’s taillights illuminate the parking lot
and surrounding bushes. We aren’t hidden enough, and both of us stumble back,
scrambling for the other side of the building. I clench his hand with moist
fingers, and when we arrive at the backside of the closed restaurant, I collapse
to my knees behind a bush. Hayden squats. The intermittent hum of the freeway
resonates behind us. A breeze blows litter against a chain link fence.

“Why would he follow us?”

Hayden just shakes his head, his eyebrows vaulted
in question. “He broke into our room.”

Why would he chase me a couple hundred miles? How
did he find me? What does he want with me?

“I’ll see if he’s gone.”

There is no way I’m staying alone. I follow three
or four steps behind him, but I don’t leave the backside of the building. I
just poke my head around, so I can keep Hayden in view.

“The van’s gone,” Hayden says, but he doesn’t step
into the circle of light made by the street lamp. I step closer to him, so I
can see the front side of the motel.

He crosses his arms and scans the road, the
buildings, and deserted restaurants. Occasionally a small car passes.

“Hayden, I don’t want to stay here.”

“We aren’t going to.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“I’m just going to go back in and get the rest of
our stuff—” The light inside our room turns off. Someone’s inside.

We look at each other for a second, and I turn to
run back to the bushes. Hayden grabs my wrist and leads me. When we get to the
back, he yanks me down and I allow him to push me back into hiding.

“I’m going to get the bike and ride back toward
that McDonald’s. When I’m sure no one is following me, I’ll meet you up that
way.” He points along the chain link fence. “Follow the fence. Stay out of the
light, get to the Mexican restaurant—”

“I can’t.”

“Sparrow, listen to me.”

“No. Don’t leave me.” He smoothes back my hair and
starts to collect it.

“Push this into your sweatshirt.” I unzip my
fleece and tuck in my hair. He pulls my hood up and places a hand on each
temple. “Father, give Sparrow the courage she needs. Protect her. Lead her.”

I can’t believe he is leaving me again.

“I would take you over there, but I’m afraid the
van will come back.” He stands. “Take this.” Hard metal fills my hands. I lift
my hands to see his gun. He redirects the muzzle at the ground behind us. “Put
your finger here.”

“I know where the trigger is.”

He places a hand on the top and lowers the muzzle
toward the ground again. “Well, don’t pull it unless you want to kill. But if
you do—don’t hesitate.”

I try to get a better look.

“Keep the muzzle down.” He pushes the palm of his
hand on top of it. “There’s fourteen rounds of nine millimeter in there.”

I’m sure that’s impressive.

He moves his face into my line of sight, “If you
know what you are shooting at, empty the clip. Pull the trigger until it stops
shooting.”

“Meet you at the Mexican restaurant?” I’m less
afraid to be alone with a gun. If I even see Brita’s murderer—”

“Don’t panic if it takes me a few minutes.” He
starts to leave then turns. “If I don’t come in an hour, call 911.”

“911? The cops are in on it.”

“Not all of them,” he says.

“How do I know who to trust?”

“Trust God.”

“Seriously, Hayden? While you are riding around on
a motorcycle and I’m alone on foot?”

“I don’t want these guys to see you.”

“How do you know they’ll follow you? What if they
follow me?”

“Stay out of sight. Then call Malcolm.”

Why is he doing this?

“Malcolm Graves, Reno P.D.,” he clarifies.

“I’ll have to go ‘in sight’ to find a phone.”

“Well, do it before dawn, at a gas station or
something.”

“How will I get his number?”

“Call information, then call collect. Or call 911
and ask them to transfer you to his cell.”

Ugh. He acts like it’s so simple. “How do you know
he’ll believe me?”

The fingers on both of Hayden’s hands stretch taut
and then clench into fists only to explode open again. Hayden runs his hands
through his hair, from his temples backward. In the space of a deep breath—a
car door slams. Stifled arguing filters from the front of the building. The
distinct phrase, “They have to be close,” sounds in an agitated grumble.

Hayden and I link hands and run.

The freeway is on our left, separated from us by the
chain link fence and bushes. On our right, we pass apartment fire escapes,
restaurants, motels and the back doors of businesses. We weave, leap and duck around
everything from barbeques to shoes. Just when I think my lungs will explode, my
ears start ringing. All sounds disappear and I feel a surreal tingling.

I’m coming for you. Baby, you can’t hide.

My curse is with me still. Now it speaks inside my
heart and mind. I flinch and accidently squeeze my right hand.

Bang. The gun jerks from my fingers. Hayden’s
hands hit me, and I know I’m going to hit the ground. I twist to keep the
kitten from landing under me. Pain stabs my rib, and Hayden becomes a dome over
me. I feel for the kitten. He’s not smashed.

“It was me.”

He tries to cover my mouth to shush me.

“Hayden. I did it.”

His weight shifts as he tries to view the area
around us.

“I shot the gun.” I roll away from him and cradle
my rib. A cantaloupe-sized rock protrudes from the ground. “My ribs hurt sooo
baaad.”

The gun landed just beyond my fingers. Piercing pain
increases when I scoot to retrieve it, which now holds thirteen rounds of nine
millimeter. The weapon is warm. I hand it back to him. Apparently he doesn’t
like the way I hand it because he freaks a little—moving the muzzle and gripping
the gun solidly with both hands. He collapses against the wall and rests the
gun against his thigh, his first finger rigid over the loop that holds the
trigger. He inhales deeply, holds—and then exhales a shaky, vibrating breath.

Meow. Kitten tells us he is alive.

“Girl, you frustrate me.”

I start to laugh, but it hurts my right side too
much. “Then don’t ever threaten to leave me alone again.” I try to breathe
shallow because deep breaths hurt.

“Someone is going to report the shot fired. Let’s
move.”

“I think you broke my rib.” He tries to help me
stand, but it hurts more with his help. I suppress a groan. Thankfully, he
leads slower now. I want to ask him where he thinks we’re going, but I keep
envisioning the scene. I see it like I’m floating above two strangers. Hayden
thought someone was shooting at us and his first reaction was to protect me. In
his mind—he rolled on top of me to die.

Hayden turns right, and we emerge into a lighter
section of town. Casino lights guarantee exceptional odds and loose slots.

Hayden’s gaze roams the street. “We could hide in
a public place. Casinos are open all night.”

“And go to Humboldt in the morning?”

He works his tongue around his mouth like he is
looking for something. After a minute he mumbles, “It would be nice to take a
look at your CD. Maybe find out if they are after that—or you.”

That hadn’t occurred to me. The pirate guy might
be after the CD. This doesn’t change the fact that Clint, and something worse,
is after me. I glance around behind us. It doesn’t matter if I see Clint anymore.
The voice I heard in my head belonged to him.

Really—was my curse, was Clint—ever bound by my
perception? Both seem to find me no matter what I do. Even now, he is near.

“Hayden, something else is going on here. I need
to get to my grandfather.”

“You’re hiding something?”

“No.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

He cuts across the parking lot and walks away from
the casinos, away from where we came. “Hayden?”

He won’t believe me.

Cori believed me.

Then she tried to kill me.

“Hayden.” He doesn’t turn or slow. I run after
him. “Where are you going?”

“We need to get away from the street lights.” Hayden
keeps looking from side to side. He is more alert, more agitated than normal
cop-mode. He leads us down a residential street.

I’ll follow him, this man who rolled on top of me
to die, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know where we are going. “Stop.”

He does.

“What’s the plan?” I ask. He grabs me and pulls us
both into the concealment of an overgrown bush.

“I’m going to steal a car.”