Dana Mentink - Secret Refuge

“I...don’t want to cause you any more pain.”

“Then go away.”

He bent down and picked up a penny-size round bead. “This looks important.”

How did he know that black bead was super important to a certain little girl? “It belongs to Junie’s toy cow, Mr. Moo Moo.” She quickly snatched the bead and stashed it in her pocket. “Thank you,” she managed.

“I don’t think Tucker is leaving until he gets what he wants.”

She rekindled her anger. He was not about to push his way into her life or parenting decisions. “Why should it matter what you think, Mr. Hudson?” She stalked to the driver’s-side and got in, pulling away without looking in the rearview mirror, though she could feel him standing there, watching. Her hands were clammy as she gripped the steering wheel.

He’s come back to take her and punish you.

Mick’s ominous words would not leave her mind as she drove to the old warehouse in the industrial part of town. Could he be right? Could Tucker have figured out that June was his child? Why would he care anyway? When LeeAnn had told him about the pregnancy, he’d pushed her to end it immediately. He had not wanted a baby then. And now? That he was a fugitive with a target on his back?

Oh, why had her sister ever come back to Silver Creek? She and June might be living a happy life together if LeeAnn and Tucker had never rekindled their deadly relationship.

Her worries only increased with every mile until she finally called the police. It reassured her to hear that they had instituted roadblocks and had their eyes on train stations and the bus depot, and that the frequent neighborhood patrols would continue. Should she tell them about June? She’d promised LeeAnn never to reveal the truth about June’s parentage, but if Mick was right, Keeley was putting the child at risk by not breaking her vow. She had to trust someone with the truth. Her stomach churned.

She made arrangements to meet with Chief Uttley at seven, leaving her just enough time to do her job. Was it the right choice or wrong? She had no idea, so she squashed the whirling anxiety and focused on the task at hand.

Her quarry would be best photographed at the top of the empty six-story building, once the home of the Oregon Weekly Tribune . The building stood resolutely against the sinking sun, as if guarding the colony of bright green Quaker parrots that had set up residence on the roof of the neighboring storage facility. The ingenious avian builders had infiltrated every nook and cranny, stuffing each crevice with a mountain of twigs to build their enormous communal nests. From her vantage point, with the zoom lens, Keeley could get incredible shots of the master builders at work.

Keeley climbed up the fire-escape ladders of the newspaper building, one arduous flight after the other, until she arrived, panting, at the top. Cold wind assaulted her cheeks. The rooftop was littered with detritus, broken branches, feathers that had been carried by the breeze and deposited against the ventilation boxes and piles of weathered pallets, stacked in six-foot piles in haphazard fashion. A flicker of motion made her jump.

She heaved out a sigh as a parrot waddled out from behind a crate, a long stick held in his beak. “Wrong building, bird,” she said, snapping his picture anyway. He took off, flying toward the communal nest.

After one more cautious look around, Keeley settled herself onto her stomach, her camera steadied on a tiny tripod. She zoomed the lens and took a couple of test shots to check the lighting.

Perfect. She reveled as she always did in the privilege of being able to peek into a hidden world, a secret place, and document the wild lives burgeoning around her.

A parrot with puffy white cheeks and brilliant emerald feathers alighted to preen on the ledge of the adjacent building. Keeley readied her camera.

“Hold still, birdie. One more second,” she whispered.

The scuff of a shoe behind her made her whirl around, heart thundering in her chest.

“You sound just like your sister,” Tucker Rivendale said.

FOUR

Mick called Reggie on the way.

“I just got word from my source that he’s been holing up at that newspaper building,” Reggie sniped into the phone as Mick drove after Keeley. “I’m on my way there right now. Please don’t tell me Keeley is headed there, too.”

Mick had followed Keeley long enough to realize that for some reason that he could not fathom, that was exactly where she seemed to be going. “Can’t ease your mind on that count.”

“And you’re right behind her.” Reggie sighed. “At least you’re armed.”

Mick remained silent.

“You don’t have a gun?” Reggie thundered. “How are you gonna take him out before he kills the girl?”

How many times after he’d left the marines had he found himself reaching for a gun when a car backfired or a stranger approached just a little too quickly? Which was exactly why he’d promised himself he’d never again carry one.

“You’ve gotta keep her off that rooftop until I get there. You stay off, too.”

“I’m pulling up in the parking lot right now.” Mick disconnected. Keeley’s car was there, but no sign of her. He raced to the front and rattled the doors—locked. What would her second move be? Same as his, the fire escape. He hastened to the nearest set of ladders. The rusted metal scraped at his fingers, the rungs creaked under his weight as he took the first step.

Two rungs up and a voice called out, “Hey.” Fingers grabbed at his calf.

He whirled and barely had time to check his reflexive kick as he jumped down. It was the vet guy. John something or other.

John’s eyes were narrowed into suspicious slits. “What are you doing here?”

Mick’s first rule: never give away any information unless strictly necessary. “Not your business.”

“If you’re here because of Keeley, it is my business.” John stepped between him and the ladder.

Mick did not want to take the time. “Can’t talk now. Get out of my way.”

“And what if I don’t?”

He sighed. “Look. If you want to fight, we’ll do it later. Right now, I have reason to believe Keeley is heading for trouble. Move, or I’ll have to go through you.”

John’s lips tightened, but he did as Mick demanded. Smart.

“Should I call the police?” he yelled up.

Mick’s second rule: never waste time answering a question that someone already knew the answer to. Mick left him to stew over that decision as he raced up the ladder. Back in the day as a young marine, he could have made the climb easily. Now, in spite of his rigorous fitness regimen, his knee, torn and abused over the years, complained after the second floor. He pressed on.

One more flight and he was at the top. He risked a quick look and his heart lurched. Keeley stood next to Tucker Rivendale. When Tucker caught a glimpse of Mick, he darted an arm around her throat, the blade of a knife held under her jaw. She looked more perplexed than scared.

“Come on up, Mick,” Tucker called. “Might as well make this a party.”

Mick stepped onto the roof. “Did he hurt you?” he asked Keeley.

“You never did trust me, did you?” Tucker said, with a laugh.

“I did, and that was a mistake I won’t make again.”

“Maybe it’s her you should be doubting.” He squeezed Keeley around the shoulders. She flinched. Tucker shook his head. “She’s a liar, you know. She’s lied to me for three years now, trying to take my kid.”

Keeley stiffened. “June isn’t yours. You never wanted her. You killed LeeAnn, and you don’t deserve to be a father.”

Tucker’s eyes went wide. “I’m guilty, huh, end of story? You get to decide that I don’t have the right to be a father to my own kid?”