The Quiet Seduction (15 page)

Flynt raised his eyebrows. “How old is this kid?”

“Unfortunately, he's too old, not to mention too smart, not to want some answers.”

The words hadn't left his mouth before a sleepy Pete Wagner, wearing a rumpled pair of pajamas, appeared at the head of the stairs. “My mom says we're going somewhere.” It was an accusation.

Spence waited until he was halfway up the stairs to answer. “Pete, something's come up. Awhile ago I remembered who I am and where I was going, and right now, I need you and your mom to help me out.”

He was getting nowhere, that much was obvious by the sullen look on the boy's face. Funny, he'd never noticed it before, but Pete definitely had his mother's jawline. “Just tell me one thing…do you trust me?”

It took all of ten seconds—ten seconds they didn't have to spare. Pete nodded. “Yeah…I guess. Yeah.”

“Okay, then, go scoop up whatever you'll need for the next few days and be down here in three minutes, you got that?”

“Do I have to take my schoolbooks?”

One of the men shook his head, the other one chuckled. Spence said, “Wouldn't hurt to toss 'em in. Don't forget to bring a few comic books, though, in case you get tired of fishing.”

“Fishing?” Pete's eyes widened.

“Go, man! Two minutes and counting.”

 

Ellen could hear Pete in his own room. Lord knew what he was packing. All his model planes, probably. She called softly from her room to his, “Don't forget your sweater and slippers.”

Spence had called their temporary lodgings a shack. Not a cabin or a cottage, but a shack. She hoped it had running water.

Oh, Lord, what had she gotten herself involved in? She should have left the darn man where she'd found him instead of dragging him home with her.

Pete came in and dropped his backpack and a stack of schoolbooks beside the door. “Mom, do I really have to take my schoolbooks? I don't have room in my bag.”

Quickly, she sorted through the stack, handed him two and said, “The others can wait. Did you bring another pair of shoes?”

“My black boots are on the back porch. Why do we have to go? Won't Miss Sara need us?”

While she finished packing, Ellen answered the questions she could and postponed the ones she didn't know the answers to. “Did you bring a change of underwear?”

“The ones without holes that I got for my birthday. Is Spence going to stay with us?”

Her hands stilled on the suitcase she was latching shut. “I don't know. Hon, he's probably got a lot to do now that he knows who he is and where he belongs.”

And who belongs to him.

Ellen watched as Pete digested the information. Then he said, “But what about Miss Sara? She might not know how to have a baby by herself.”

Relieved at not having to explain Spence's recovery, she said, “Moxie did just fine by herself. Miss Sara will come through like a champion—and this time, maybe we'll get a little girl. Now, if you're sure you've got everything you'll need, we'd better go.”

“'Kay.” He shrugged into his backpack and picked up the schoolbooks. “Mom, girl babies are called fillies.”

Ellen took it as a good sign. At least he'd stopped asking unanswerable questions. She veered into the bathroom again on her way downstairs and grabbed her shampoo. She wasn't sure what a fishing shack would offer in the way of amenities, but it couldn't be much.

 

It wasn't much. Other than cane poles, spinning rods and two overflowing tackle boxes, the unpainted board-and-batten cabin offered a flyspecked, three-year-old calendar, some stained plastic dinnerware, a coffeepot and three cast-iron frying pans. The furniture could best be described as early utilitarian; a mixture of plastic and wooden porch furniture, for the most part, with a few yard-sale leftovers. Other than that, there were two bunk beds, a wood-burning stove, a two-burner gas range and a refrigerator that held one empty ice tray and three dead roaches.

Spence had explained that if she needed anything at all—if she heard or saw anything that bothered her, she was to scream her head off, that help was only a few yards away.

If he'd wanted to frighten her, that had done the job. Up until now everything had moved so quickly that she hadn't had time to think about the situation in which she found herself. It had been Donita who had suggested she take along a couple of pillows, sheets and light blankets.

Surprisingly enough, she'd instinctively liked the pair who'd been delegated to stay at the ranch. No sooner had they been introduced than Jose had tugged at his hat brim and headed back out to the barn to oversee Miss Sara's lying-in. Donita, whose barrel-racing days must be far in the past judging by her well-rounded figure, had been given a quick tour of the
house. Both, Ellen had noted with shock, wore small sidearms under lightweight twill jackets.

“Don't you worry about this place, ma'am. Your horses, they'll be just fine. Jose'll look after them like they were his own babies.”

And with that, she had to be satisfied.

The sun had risen in a blaze of glory shortly after they'd gotten under way, lending a further air of unreality to the whole crazy scenario. They had circled north of Mission Creek, with Spence driving Ellen and Pete in one SUV and the other two men following some distance back in the other.

“You realize I'll be without transportation?” Ellen had left the keys to both trucks with Jose and Donita.

“You won't be going anywhere, not without one of us,” Spence had told her. He'd fallen silent then. In the pink light of dawn, he'd looked tense, worried. After the first few attempts she had given up trying to communicate. Pete had fallen asleep in the back seat, and Ellen had leaned over and covered him with one of the two blankets she'd brought along.

They had pulled up in front of a shack that looked as run down as all the others, including the ramshackle pier leading from the porch to the pond. Flynt and Tyler had pulled in right behind them, and two men emerged from the shacks on either side of the one she was expected to inhabit. Graying, nondescript men wearing baggy jeans and windbreakers, they'd been introduced as Beau and Melvin. Frick and Frack, she'd amended silently, knowing she would never be able to keep them apart in her mind.

“They're here if you need them. If they go fishing, it'll be from the pier where they can keep an eye on
things. If you need groceries, make a list. One of them will run into town.”

That was it? she'd wanted to ask. After all we've been to each other?

Oh, God, you're pathetic, woman!

The leave-taking had been public. A few feet away, Tyler kept glancing at his watch while Flynt conferred quietly with Frick and Frack. Spence, too, had obviously been chaffing at the bit to leave, and Ellen told herself that after being away from his friends for two weeks, it was perfectly understandable.

 

But still she thought now, standing alone as she watched the sun glint off the forty-five acre pond, he could have taken her aside. He could have reached out and touched her face or her hand. He could have said he'd see her in a day or so. He could at least have said—

“Mom, what do catfish eat?” Pete asked, interrupting her unrewarding thoughts.

“I don't know. Worms? Bugs?”

“I think they'd pro'ly eat chicken bits, don't you?” They had stopped at a twenty-four-hour fast-food place and Spence had gone inside, emerging a few minutes later with several sacks of chicken nuggets, biscuits with and without ham and eggs, French fries, a carafe of coffee and a gigantic paper cup of iced orange juice.

“We'll get you more provisions later on today, including a cell phone and a list of numbers where you can reach us at any time,” he'd said just before he'd taken his leave earlier that morning.

She had pinned her hopes on the promise, but it wasn't Spence who'd showed up with the cell phone and a box of supplies, it was the man called Flynt. “I
don't know how much Spence told you about what's going on, Ms. Wagner, but it'll help a whole lot if you can stay here for the next few days. The last thing he needs with things the way they are is to be worried about your safety.”

Ellen had bridled at the implication that she was a drag on anyone, but decided there was no point in taking it up with this man. “A few days?” She knew from past experience that a few days could mean anything from a few hours to a few months. Without having her own transportation, leaving would not be easy. She would have to call a taxi, and she wasn't even sure how to tell them to find the place.

Besides, she wasn't at all certain her two watchdogs would allow her to leave. They looked like a couple of harmless old men on a fishing vacation, but looks could be deceiving.

“We'll be just fine,” she'd assured the handsome, solemn-faced man with the piercing blue eyes. “You can tell Spence that he doesn't need to worry about us. We're perfectly capable of looking after ourselves.”

He'd taken a moment to think it over, then shook his head. “One of us will be in touch as soon as anything changes. Meanwhile, if you think of anything you need—anything at all—just ask Beau or Melvin.”

“Frick or Frack.”

It took him a moment, but he'd almost smiled. “Right. Look, you've got your cell phone now, and the list of numbers. I'd appreciate it if you didn't call except in case of an emergency. The calls can't be traced the way landlines can, but with some pretty simple equipment, they can be intercepted.”

Merciful heaven, what on earth had she gotten herself mixed up in? Ellen thought now. She didn't mind
so much for herself—being an army wife had been more than a rude awakening; in the case of a spoiled debutante playing at being a college student, it had been a crash course in reality. But now she had Pete, and if anything happened to him, she would take on the so-called Texas Mafia herself. They didn't know what trouble was until they ran head-on into a mother's rage.

 

In the center of town, three men, two of them wearing headsets, waited in a van walled with electronic equipment. “Anything yet?” Spence whispered tersely. So far they had heard only the sounds of cursing, the scratch of a match, and the opening and closing of a drawer—probably a desk drawer. “Why the hell couldn't we get three sets of phones?”

“Lucky to get this much,” Tyler muttered. He'd been the one to requisition the van. Tyler's specialty was disarming bombs, not procuring surveillance equipment. Fortunately, all three men, having been members of Special Forces, knew more than enough to get the job done.

Surveillance required patience, though, and patience at this point was in short supply. They were so close to the end of the game—that is, they were if everything fell into place as expected.

“I wish I knew what the hell we were waiting for,” Tyler muttered.

“I can't tell you. I've been out of the loop too long, but I'll know it when I hear it.” Occupied with another matter, neither Flynt nor Tyler had been in a position to get a lead on what was happening now that the new D.A. had been appointed.

“Then get on with it while I go get us some coffee and doughnuts.”

Just then Tyler raised a hand for silence and leaned closer to the monitoring device. He ripped off his headset and fiddled with a control as a strident voice filled the overheated space.

“—know why? Because nobody trusts you anymore, that's why! Me, they can trust! I got a record to back me up. You? All you got is a two-bit contracting company!”

“That's Del Brio,” Flynt confirmed. Another voice came into play and all three men stiffened.

“That's Ricky,” Spence whispered. “See if you can bring it in better.”

“Damn freakin' equipment. I told them I needed—”

“Hush!” Spence moved in closer to the speaker, concentrating on the tinny, static-filled conversation.

“If you'd stayed tight with your buddies, I wouldn't be in this fix, damn it! I'm working blind here, and you're not—”

“What the hell did you expect? For all I knew, they were responsible for my sister's—”

“They got off, didn't they?”

There was some highly inventive cursing followed by a sound as if one of the men had slammed a drawer shut. Then Del Brio's distinctive voice was heard again. “Forget Harrison. One way or the other, he's out of the picture now. Your other two friends are too worried about Callaghan to make trouble now. As for Haley, I been hearing things—”

“What things? Damn it, don't jerk me around like this, Frankie!”

The mob boss's voice took on a patently false ge
niality. “Way I hear it, your sister might still be alive. Now I'm not saying for sure, and I'm not saying I'm still interested in marrying her, I just happened to come into some information—”

“What information? What the hell are you talking about? We both know Haley's—'

“Take your hands off my shirt, boy.” All signs of geniality, false or otherwise, disappeared. “Now, you want to work with me, or did you just come here to stir up trouble?”

 

Time passed slowly. At first Ellen was reluctant for Pete to go outside, but after the first few hours, she relented. There was no TV, no books—nothing at all to read other than schoolbooks and the comic books he'd brought with him, a few tattered fishing magazines and a copy of
Playboy,
which she quickly stashed inside the wood-burning stove.

Schoolbooks, Pete informed her, didn't count.

“Mom, I'm, hungry again. What are we having for lunch?”

“Let's see…we have canned corned-beef hash, canned tomatoes, a loaf of bread and some sandwich makings.” Either Spence's friends were extremely unimaginative or they were unused to buying their own groceries.

“We could eat fish,” Pete offered hopefully.

“So bait up and start fishing.” She figured as long as he was entertained, he wouldn't worry about Miss Sara and her baby. Although the couple they'd left behind at the ranch had seemed competent enough, things could go wrong even in the best of circumstances.