“Oh God,” Molly said. “Do you know his name, Em?”
But Emma folded, just shut down again, her breathing even and slow. She was sound asleep.
They looked at each other. Molly said, “What am I going to do?”
“I told you, Molly. I’m in for the long haul. Now the question is, what are we going to do? Tell you what. We’re both still too tired to think straight. I’ve got some ideas. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
She was shaking her head back and forth, her red hair moving in concert. “I can’t go back to Denver. I’m never going back to Denver. I don’t understand what’s going on here. How many people are involved in this? Who are they? How, why, could Emma’s kidnapping be a conspiracy?”
“Conspiracy,” he repeated slowly. “Why do you call it a conspiracy?”
She shrugged, one corner of her sleep shirt falling off her shoulder.
“I guess kidnapping could end up being a conspiracy if the parents were in on it, or if it was done for another purpose. But you didn’t mean that. Did you?”
“I just said the word. It seemed it might be possible. We already know about up to five different men.”
“An elaborate scheme then. But a conspiracy? That smacks of something darker, something beneath the surface. It just might mean it would involve people around you.”
She was silent. He watched her pull up the shoulder of her sleep shirt. It said on the front: B1GFOOT WAS HERE. Her hair was corkscrewed and wild around her pale face. She looked inutterably weary. And also very pretty, he thought, somewhat amazed that he’d noticed and here it was in the middle of the night. Her skin was very white, unlike his, with his olive skin tone. He wanted to put his hand on her, to compare the color difference between them. He was losing it. “Let’s get some sleep. We’re out of here tomorrow.”
HE returned to the Jerome at noon. Molly and Emma were playing Old Maid seated cross-legged opposite each other, the card pile in the middle.
“No, don’t get up. We’re the proud owners of a 1989 Toyota 4Runner with lots of miles on it. It’s a two-door model, on the beat-up side, but who cares? It’s got four-wheel drive, nearly all the comforts of the Jeep.”
He’d gotten the maximum cash allowed from AMEX and paid the car dealer in cash. He added, “Even if they’ve tracked down the Jeep, it’ll take them a good long time to find it in that long-term parking lot over by the lift.” But he knew they weren’t safe, not by a long shot.
He said quickly, “It’s time we checked out of here. Fifteen minutes okay with everybody? We shop and then we’re heading west.”
They’d spoken about it briefly that morning when they’d awakened. “It’s just our next destination,” Ramsey had said, “but it gets us closer to my home and my turf.”
Molly had said quietly, afraid that Emma would awaken, “I know we can’t stay here. Where west do you want to go?”
“Truckee. I know the area very well. Let’s just get ourselves lost for the time being in the Sierras. I had a friend from college who lived on Lake Tahoe.”
Molly didn’t say anything more until she got him in the bathroom with the door shut, Emma in the bedroom packing her pillowcase.
He said, “Anyone with a brain could trace the money withdrawal from AMEX that I used to pay for the Toyota, and I think we’ve got professionals here. So our best bet is to get ourselves lost for the time being. The Sierras are beautiful and out of the way. Any problem with that?”
“I’ve never been to Lake Tahoe,” she said, fiddling with a towel that was wadded up. She was methodically folding it, arranging it back on the rack.
“It’s a little town, quaint, all rigged out for the skiers in the winter and the hikers in the summer. Emma’11 like it. It’ll be safe.”
She looked up at him. “How’s your leg?”
“Better this morning. You and Emma were both standing over me when I took up the tape and gauze. The skin’s staying together, a good sign. The flesh is pink. Very little swelling. It just aches.”