Catherine Coulter - The Target

"I don't suppose you considered that it could have been you they were after?"

He wanted to strangle the steering wheel. "Emma," he said, "stop listening, as of now. Put your hands against your ears. Yes, that's good. Now, I'm going to speak my mind to your mother."

"I don't want to hear any more. It doesn't matter. You've done your good deed. You've even been hurt protecting Emma. It's enough, more than enough. You're now out of our lives. When we trade cars, I'll be really careful to make certain no one follows us. I've gotten very good at being sneaky. I'm not going back to Denver, so you don't have to worry that Emma will be in any danger again. Oh yeah, I'll call the cops and the FBI and tell them it's over. I'll tell them where you found Emma so maybe they can find the cabin where the kidnapper was holding Emma. Then I'll tell them what a dynamite job they all did."

Emma sat perfectly still on her mother's lap, her hands over her ears. But she was making those horrible mewling sounds in her throat.

Molly looked like she'd been punched in the stomach. She gathered Emma close, rocking her. "Baby, it's all right. Oh, God, I'm sorry, Emma. Please, trust me. I promise I'll take care of you. It was my fault that he got you that first time, but we're not going back there. I'll keep you safe. I won't yell at Ramsey again."

Ramsey stopped the Jeep. He turned in his seat to face them. "Emma," he said matter-of-factly, "take your hands away from your ears. Now listen to me. You won't make those sounds anymore, do you hear me? If you have something to say, you'll say it, not scare the devil out of me making those sounds. They terrify me to my toes. They make my leg hurt more. Now, I'm not leaving you and your mom. Your mom can yell at me if it makes her feel better. I might even yell back. But nothing could make me leave you.

Do you hear me?"

A loud silence, and then, "You promise you won't leave, Ramsey?"

"I promise. I don't break my promises. Your mom will get used to me just as you did. She won't talk me out of it, no matter what kind of reasons she comes up with. I'll even play by her rules, for the time being.

You're going to talk from now on, all right?"

She nodded slowly. "I don't like to hear you yelling."

"No, we don't either. But it'll happen sometimes. You can just tell us both to be quiet. Now, enough said."

Molly didn't say a word. She looked as if she wanted to fold up on herself. She looked near the edge.

He felt like taking a strip off her, but he didn't. She might just crumble. Or, she might just shoot him. He lightly patted her shoulder and said in that calm deep voice that served him well in the courtroom, "It will be all right, Molly. You'll see. There's nothing wrong with needing backup, and that's how you can think of me. Now, let's get out of here. Emma, look out the rear window. If you see a car behind us, you tell me."

"Yes, Ramsey."

"I'm counting on you. Keep sharp."

"I will."

"About those men," Molly said. "Do you think it's possible that they could have been after you and not Emma?"

"I don't know."

"You've made enemies. I read you'd gotten threats, particularly from that one woman whose husband died that day in the courtroom."

"That's right, I have, but no one has tried to kill me before."

"That would mean that there were two men with Emma, not just the one who abducted her."

"That's right. Could you please pour me a cup of coffee from the Thermos?"

She knew he didn't want to talk about it in front of Emma. But there was so much dammed up inside her.

For nearly two weeks, she'd been filling up with anger and hatred and helplessness. She'd wait, she had to. The last thing she wanted was to terrify her daughter even more than she already was. She handed the cup to Ramsey Hunt, a man she'd read about, a man she'd wondered about in odd moments along with the rest of the country. Until two weeks ago when her world was blown apart.

She hugged Emma tightly to her.

"Let me loose, Mama. I've got to keep looking out the back window. The Jeep's dirty, Ramsey. We should stop and get it washed."

"That's a good idea. Who would be looking for a spanking clean Jeep?"

They left Molly's rental car where it sat. Molly took all the papers out of the glove compartment. "I'll call them and tell them where the car is. They may not mind too much if I tell them to charge anything extra on my credit card."

They had the Jeep washed when they stopped for lunch in Rappahoe, a small town just off the 70. No one was following them as best Ramsey could tell.

"How's your leg?"

"Stiffening up on me," he said, taking a big bite of his hamburger. He closed his eyes as he chewed.

When he swallowed, he groaned and said, "Fat. There's nothing better in life."

"I heard my dad say that sex was the best thing in life," Emma said, and chewed on a French fry coated with catsup.

"I think kittens and little girls are about the two best things," Molly said without skipping a beat.

He admired her for that. He himself was aware that his mouth had dropped open.

"Did you bring my kite, Ramsey?"

"Oh yes. This kid's a pro," he added to Molly, who'd taken all of one spoonful of her vegetable soup.

"You taught her, didn't you?"

She nodded, picked up her spoon, and began stirring the soup. There was a film of grease over the top.

She dropped the spoon and took a slice of white bread. She spread butter and jam on it. At least she was eating that.

"Ramsey, two guys just came in. They're looking over here. One of them has a rifle."

MELISSA Shaker watched her father move smoothly and steadily on the rowing machine. She wanted to tell him that he looked really good for a guy his age, that he should hang around in jock T-shirts and shorts. The minute he dressed in one of his expensive Savile Row suits, he looked faintly ridiculous. The bottom line was, he looked like a thug, really. The more expensive the clothes, the more they seemed to reduce him to a stereotype of a Hollywood movie Mafia character. But strip her old man down, and he looked just fine.

She said, "I noticed that you've stopped taking Eleanor around to the clubs."

He grunted, never missing his rhythmic pull, release, pull, release. "Yeah, she's so classy she makes me look like a bodyguard."

She blinked at that. She didn't realize he'd known. Eleanor, classy?

He continued after a moment, his voice smooth and calm, despite his exertion, "The younger, the more beautiful the girl, the more like a gargoyle I look."

Melissa laughed. "You're right, but I wouldn't have said it out loud. I saw you with a really beautiful girl out by the swimming pool the other day. You were wearing a bikini and so was she. You looked better than she did. Just wear shorts, Dad, and you'll look great."

He grunted, slowly easing down on his speed. This was his cooldown. He'd been on the rowing machine for forty minutes. Sweat was dripping off him and his muscles were pumped and glistening. If he hadn't been her father, she would have at least looked him over.

The phone rang. He said without looking up, "Answer it, but don't say anything."

She did. When she handed him the phone, he'd finally come to a halt. He was breathing just a bit on the fast side. He listened, then said, "What's the status?"

He listened. Melissa wished she could pick up the extension. She walked over to the weight rack and picked up two five-pound free weights. She began to do bicep curls.

She turned only when she heard him place the phone back into the cradle. He said, "It shouldn't be long now. We'll get three for the price of one."

"I wish it could be different."

He looked at her closely, doing the slow bicep curls, like pulling through water, just as he'd taught her.