Protector - Laurel Dewey [154]
As much as she hated to admit it, she was grateful that Chris was able to squeeze out the warning about Weyler. Soon, though, that gratitude was replaced with anger—anger that she was, once again, a sitting duck waiting to be picked off. The anger passed and a sense of intense vulnerability overwhelmed her. It occurred to Jane that it was the same feeling that blanketed her that night sitting in the patrol car with Chris while they awaited the return of the Stovers in their SUV.
She thought back to those fateful moments before all hell broke loose. Why did she feel vulnerable, Jane wondered. Maybe it was because Chris was so edgy and pissed off at Bill Stover when he was told to stay put in his house. As they both watched Stover drive down the street accompanied by two unmarked police vehicles for protection, Jane suddenly recalled how Chris shook his head and said, “What an asshole! He really wants to sign his own death certificate!” Up until that moment, Jane had forgotten Chris’ comment. His voice had that same cocky cadence when he picked up his cell phone and called one of the flank vehicles.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Jane remembered Chris saying to the driver on his phone. “I can’t believe Stover was so stupid! He drives off with his family for ice cream so he can get thirty minutes in the outside world! Thirty fucking minutes! It looks all clear from here but hurry up!”
Whatever it was that triggered Jane’s feeling of impending doom and vulnerability on that tragic evening just over six weeks ago, she found herself right back in the middle of the same anxious tension. There was too much going on—too many lies that she had to remember so she wouldn’t blow her cover. It was enough pressure to pretend to be someone’s mother. But now, she had to lie to the sheriff, and pretend that her “daughter” had a severe blood disease. At least, that hinged on whether Dan was able to successfully deliver the bogus message to the sheriff. It was beginning to feel like a bad soap opera.
By the following Saturday morning, the park across the street teemed with carnival visitors. Jane awoke to the discordant sound of pipe organ music against the steady drone of the strident carnies. Emily was not in bed with Jane, a fact that was unusual since she spent every night there. “Emily?” Jane called out.
No response.
Jane dashed out of bed and sprinted down the hallway toward the living room. There she saw Emily perched in a chair, eagerly looking out the large front window at all the action across the street. “I called your name!” Jane said, irritated. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I didn’t hear you,” Emily replied as the blaring sound of carnival activities grew more noticeable in the living room.
While she had always taken her job of protecting Emily very seriously, Jane felt a heightened sense of duty ever since Chris’ disturbing comment. Jane sat on the couch, feeling the weight of the world press down on her.
Emily sensed that something wasn’t right. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing . . . Just the usual bullshit.”
“We’re still gonna go to the carnival, aren’t we?”
“It’s just a small-town deal. Convicts put these rides together. Drunken convicts!”
“So we don’t go on the rides. We can eat popcorn and, maybe go to the dance. I mean, I don’t have to go, but you do.” Jane regarded her questionably. “Remember? You owe Dan two dances for fixing the water pipe.”
Jane leaned her head against the couch, in no mood to kick up her cowboy boots. “Fine! But we’ll just go for the dance and maybe some popcorn and then back to the house. Deal?”
“Deal!” Emily said excitedly.
Emily had been dressed in her western attire a full two hours before leaving. Jane emerged from the bedroom dressed in a crisp black western shirt, blue jeans and her weather beaten, scuffed cowboy boots.
“You fixed your hair!” Emily said with a big smile.
Jane self-consciously tousled her hair. “I just washed it and fluffed it up.”
“You look really good.” Jane shrugged her shoulders and slid her