Valerie Hansen - Family In Hiding

“Of course I do. The kids are already struggling to adjust because you’re not in their lives. What will it do to them if you go to prison?”

“I don’t expect that to happen,” Dylan said. “At least I hope it won’t since I have something crucial to plea bargain with.”

“Does anybody else know you have evidence?”

“Not directly. I was noticed when I went by the office this morning but my regular files had been cleaned so nobody can possibly imagine what I was doing.”

“You hope.” Grace’s emotions were on a rollercoaster and she could envision a precipice at the end where the track vanished. And Dylan with it.

She started to pace. “What am I supposed to do about the divorce if you’re not around?”

“Go ahead without me,” Dylan said. He shrugged so nonchalantly she wanted to scream before he added, “Of course you could postpone the final decree and see if you really need it.”

“Because you expect to be murdered like that other witness who was killed in jail? Is that what you were thinking when you said I might become a widow?”

“Let’s just say there’s an element of risk.”

His nonchalant attitude galled. “I can’t believe this is happening, Dylan. If you don’t care about yourself, think of your children.”

“I am thinking of them. And of all those other children whose futures changed because of me.” He began to pace the gazebo floor, hitting his opposite palm with his balled fist.

“What, exactly, did you do?” she asked, worried that the answer was going to hurt worse than not knowing. Merely being associated with Dylan at this point was making her feel sullied.

“The fewer details you have, the better,” he said.

“Now you’re sounding like the Dylan McIntyre I know,” Grace countered. “Always in charge, always sure nobody else is smart enough to grasp fundamentals as cleverly as you do.”

Returning to stand in front of her, toe to toe, he grasped her shoulders. The power and resolve emanating from him momentarily took her breath away. “Stop judging me by past performances and listen to me, Grace. I only came to tell you in person because I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me otherwise. I’m not going to give you any more details because I don’t want to put you or the kids in danger.”

“How do you know it isn’t already too late?” she asked, ruing the tremor in her voice and hoping she looked far more courageous than she felt.

“Because everybody knows we’ve been estranged for a long time and are almost divorced. And, because nobody needs to know how the authorities are finally going to be able to prove who I answered to, why I did what I did.”

She twisted out of his grip. “Get real, Dylan. If these criminals are smart enough to steal babies and get away with it, what makes you think they won’t suspect you of divided loyalties?”

She watched his jaw muscles working for long seconds before he spoke again. “I have no choice,” he insisted. “Even if I tried to back down at this point there’s no way I could go to work and behave as if nothing has changed. It was hard enough to casually walk through the office this morning.” He spread his arms, palms toward her. “Look at me, Grace. Believe how sorry I am. You have to.”

Before she could form a suitable answer, there was a startling noise; a distant ping that made her husband jump.

Dylan suddenly launched himself at her, carrying them both to the wooden floor and knocking the air out of Grace. “Get off me! What’s the matter with you?”

“A shot! Didn’t you hear it?”

“I heard something. How do you know...?”

“The kids!” he rasped into her ear. “Go get the kids out of here while I draw their fire.”

Stunned, Grace nevertheless rolled onto her knees as soon as Dylan began to stand. Watching him crouch behind the railing as if those widely spaced boards would afford adequate protection from another bullet, she was astounded by the way her heart went out to him in spite of everything.

“Now,” Dylan shouted over his shoulder.

He began to sprint away.

Grace scrambled in the opposite direction toward her children. Kyle had apparently noticed the furor and had gathered his siblings together inside the walls of a miniature fort. Brandon was cooperating but Beth was screeching in protest.

Grace scooped up Brandon, grabbed Beth’s hand and barely paused before heading out the opposite side of the child-size structure and ducking into thick foliage along a garden path.

Shaking so badly she could hardly stand, she hunkered down, pulling all three children close. “Shush. We’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. Don’t make noise or they’ll find us.”

Only Kyle seemed to grasp the reality behind her actions. “Where’s Dad?”

“Never mind that. Just do as I say.”

The slim ten-year-old started to rise. Grace grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back down. “No! You have to stay with me.”

“But, Dad...”

“Your father got himself into this mess and he says he can get himself out of it, so we’re going to let him.” She fixed her most convincing parental stare on her eldest child, thankful to see him wilt from its effects.

What she wasn’t willing to admit, to Kyle or even to herself, was how worried she was for Dylan’s well-being. For his future. And for the rest of the family.

Positive her brood would stay put, at least for the present, Grace reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out her cell phone and pressed 9-1-1. Somebody had to be practical and behave like a sensible adult. While Dylan was acting as if he thought he could outrun bullets, she was going to summon proper assistance.

As soon as the call was answered, Grace began with, “I’m at the botanical gardens. We think somebody is shooting at us!”

* * *

Dylan was torn. Should he circle back to rejoin his family in the hope he could protect them? Or should he stay as far away from Grace and the kids as possible? Neither choice seemed foolproof.

He’d been listening carefully and had heard no more shots. Was it possible the whole incident had been imagined? Was he so mentally unbalanced from the stress of finding out what he’d done that he was hearing things? Ducking phantom attackers? Making a mountain out of a molehill?

His jaw clenched and he shook his head. This was no trivial matter. Even if his own life wasn’t currently in jeopardy, that didn’t mean he and his family would remain safe in the future. Nobody who had interrogated him had mentioned the possibility of going into the Witness Protection Program but surely that was an option. It had to be, particularly since other erstwhile eyewitnesses had been assassinated while in police custody.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he should withhold his evidence until that idea had been discussed and his wife and children had been offered sanctuary.

The distant wail of sirens told him he had not been the only garden visitor who had sensed trouble. In a way, that was comforting. At least he could be certain he hadn’t imagined the attack.

Dylan stepped onto the nearest path and started to jog toward the gates, figuring to intercept the police, explain what was going on and direct them to Grace and the kids.

Rounding the final corner he spied several patrol cars entering the grounds. He raised an arm and waved to get their attention.

A crack of sound split the atmosphere.

Dylan felt as if someone had smacked his forearm with a baseball bat.

He faltered. Staggered. Grabbed his wrist with his opposite hand and yelled, “Over here!” at the top of his lungs.

When he looked down, there was blood dripping off his fingers and dotting the path at his feet.

THREE