The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [315]
Miles was so tired he felt like his skin was inside out and his brain was in a fog bank. Yet he couldn’t seem to shut down and sleep. So he lay there, listening to his boy breathe.
He closed his eyes and thanked Alicia yet again for encouraging Sam to get himself out of that cabin window. He’d wondered many times if she really was keeping a close eye on her son from the other side, if there was an other side, but if there wasn’t, how had Sam heard her voice? Miles knew it was Sam’s subconscious that had prodded him, but it was still somehow reassuring to believe, if even for a moment, that her love for her son overcame the silence and separation of death.
The air was soft, warm. He would swear he felt a brief touch of fingertips on his cheek. He smiled as he closed his eyes.
He had no idea how much time had passed. But one moment he was thinking about the problems with the new rotor blade design on the army’s new Proto A587 helicopter, and the next he was alert, ready to move. He lay there, listening.
There was a scraping sound.
It stopped. Then nothing.
Surely Clancy wouldn’t come back to try yet again to get Sam. There were two cops sitting just around at the front of the house.
It was probably just a branch whispering against the side of the house in the night wind.
No different sounds now, nothing at all.
Miles drew a deep breath, and settled in again. He imagined he’d be hearing things for many years to come.
“Hold yourself real still, Mr. Kettering.”
Miles’s heart nearly seized. His eyes flew open. He looked up into Clancy’s shadowed face, and pulled Sam closer.
“Yeah, I saw you wake up. Then I decided to wait just another minute, and sure enough, you were out again.”
Miles didn’t want to wake Sam. He whispered to that round white face above him, “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get past the cops outside?”
Clancy grinned, and Miles saw he hadn’t escaped scot free from the van. He had a split lip with some dried blood on it, his cheek was swollen and covered with three Band-Aids. There was another cut over his left eyebrow, a Band-Aid patched vertically over it. His right arm wasn’t in a sling, but he was holding it stiffly against his side.
Miles felt the muzzle of the gun, sharp and cold against his neck. Clancy leaned his face real close to Miles’s, and he smelled Clancy’s breath—salami and beer. He said, real low, “It was easy as kicking dirt. They were nearly unconscious last time I checked. By now, they might be dead, the morons. I’ve worked enough on cars to know about what not to do with a car exhaust. Pretty dangerous things, if you don’t know what you’re doing. Yep, nothing so easy as the car exhaust. Easy as cooking a hot dog. You see, the bozos kept the car turned on because they were too wussy to take the cold. That was when I knew exactly what to do.”
“You murdered two people just to get to Sam?”
“That’s right, Mr. Kettering. What’s your point?”
“Who’s paying you to do this? Who?”
“Well now, Mr. Kettering, that just isn’t any of your business, now, is it?”
“You have to know this is insane, Clancy. Half the state is looking for you. There’s no way you’ll get away with Sam, no way at all.”
“You know, Mr. Kettering, with all your yapping, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just pop you now.” The muzzle dug in. Miles didn’t move, barely breathed, and he thought, I can’t die, I can’t. I have to protect Sam. He thought of Katie just down the hall, asleep. If Sam could hear his mother, then why the hell couldn’t he talk to Katie? He did, and then focused himself again. He was an idiot, a desperate idiot. Sam was too close for him to try to make a move. And it appeared that Clancy had nothing at all to lose. Who was paying him so