Reunited By A Secret Child. Leigh Bale
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“Yeah, I figured it was just a matter of time before this happened, but I thought Reese would be safe for a day or two. Call the police.” Charlie limped toward the door, his jaw hard.
Turning toward the desk, Katie reached for the phone. As she dialed the numbers, she couldn’t help wondering where Reese was and what might happen next.
* * *
Reese heard the cacophony before he saw the myriad of people milling around the parking lot at the Cowboy Country Inn. He’d been hungry, so he’d walked the short distance to the Rocklin Diner and gotten a sandwich. Wearing a baseball cap pulled low across his face, he’d escaped recognition. No questions to answer. No big deal. Now he was beat. He hadn’t been sleeping well and longed to lie down and close his eyes for a million years.
“There he is!” someone yelled.
Reese lifted his head and paused. A small crowd of people stood in the parking lot of the motel. With a glance, he took in two camera crews and reporters running straight toward him. A news van with Channel 6 written on the side was parked directly in front of his room. A woman gripping a microphone in one hand pounded on his door. How had they found out which room he was staying in? Surely Katie or Charlie wouldn’t tell them.
For two brief moments, Reese thought about making a run for it. His hesitation cost him dearly. The swarm came at him like a trampling herd. He found himself surrounded, the reporters thrusting their mics into his face. The flash of cameras caused him to blink.
“Mr. Hartnett, can you tell us about the last few minutes before your hotshot crew died?” one of them asked, holding a recorder in front of his nose.
“How did it happen, Reese? How did it make you feel?” another one said.
They packed closer, vying for his attention. Reese felt the blood drain from his face. He tensed, his body cold and shaking. His stomach churned. This was exactly what he’d tried to avoid: a media frenzy. He wasn’t about to discuss his personal feelings with anyone. In fact, he’d rather forget the incident ever happened.
“Break it up. You’re on private property. I want you all to leave.” Gripping his wooden cane, Charlie Ashmore pushed his way into the group, a deep scowl pulling at his eyebrows.
The reporters ignored Charlie, jostling him so that he stumbled. Reese snatched the man’s arm to steady him. “Are you okay?”
Charlie met his gaze and nodded.
“What was it like, watching your crew die like that?” someone asked.
Reese shuddered as memories sliced over him like slivers of ice. His ears rang with the screams of dying men.
“You have no right to ask him such personal things. You need to leave right now.” Katie came out of the motel, brandishing a broom like a warrior. Chrissy stood close beside her mother, her eyes wide.
Katie took a sweep at two of the reporters’ legs and they jumped back. Anger flared across her face, her long auburn hair whipping about her shoulders like a flame. She was absolutely gorgeous in her fury.
“You get out of here, all of you,” she ordered.
“We don’t mean any harm. We’re just after a story,” one of the journalists said.
“I don’t care what you’re after. You need to leave. I’ve just called the police,” she said, throttling the broomstick with her hands.
Confusion fogged Reese’s brain. Katie was defending him? He couldn’t believe it. They’d been friends in high school. Sort of. Not really. But that was a long time ago. And he admitted silently that he’d never treated Katie very well. He’d been pretty drunk the night of their graduation when he’d used her abominably. He barely remembered the details, but he still knew what he’d done. So why was she standing up for him now?
“Look, I don’t want any trouble. I have nothing to say. There’s no story here, so you might as well leave.” Reese spoke above the dull roar.
He held up his hands, as if to ward them off. Like a wolf scenting blood, they moved in closer.
“You heard him, folks. You need to pack it up and go home,” Charlie boomed. Lifting his cane, he used it to push his way through the throng.
Reese made a break for it but found his path blocked by a short, stocky man holding a digital recorder. “What does it feel like to be the only one who survived?”
Bruce Miller. Reese recognized the award-winning reporter immediately. He was with the National News Registry. Headstrong, assertive and unwilling to take no for an answer. Bruce had been dogging Reese for two weeks. When he wasn’t carrying on an interview, he held a plump, stinky cigar clenched between his teeth. The guy was relentless.
In the jostling crowd, Charlie bumped against Bruce. “I asked you to leave.”
“You don’t have to be so pushy about it.” Bruce glared his disapproval.
A shrill siren sounded, growing louder as a squad car pulled into the parking lot. Tilting his head to one side, Reese breathed an audible sigh of relief. With the police here, Katie leaned her broom against the outer wall and stood with Chrissy beside the office door. Her cheeks were a pretty shade of pink, her eyes crinkled with concern. For him. No, surely he imagined that. She was just worried about all the people standing in the parking lot of her motel. It was bad for business, after all.
Reese gravitated toward her, grateful to see a familiar face. Right now, he felt adrift in a stormy sea of doubt, with multiple leaks in his life raft. She was like a lifeline, reeling him in. For the first time in a long time, he needed someone else’s help, and that left him feeling strangely humbled.
“What’s going on here?” Martin Sanders, the chief of police, got out of his squad car and strode toward the mob.
Reese hesitated. As a teenager, he’d had plenty of altercations with this officer. So had his father. Reese couldn’t remember the number of times his dad had been locked in a cell overnight for being drunk and disorderly or writing a bad check. Either Reese or his mom had always bailed him out. Most of the money Reese made working summer jobs had been taken by his dad to buy booze. Instead of buying new school clothes, Reese’s mom had let out the hems in his old pants and mended his threadbare socks and shirts. Being poor because of his father’s penchant for drink had taken its toll on Reese’s morale. He hated being the child of a drunkard.
Chief Sanders looked older now, with gray at his temples, but he was still big, tall and capable. He tugged up his duty belt, laden with a gun, handcuffs and a Taser. It was obvious from his fierce demeanor that he knew how to handle himself with these reporters.
“Thanks for coming, Chief Sanders. I’ve asked them all to leave, but they’ve refused,” Charlie said.
“What’s the big deal? We just want an interview,” Bruce Miller called.
Sanders turned and looked at Reese. “Are you the cause of all this ruckus?”
Reese nodded. “Yes, sir, but I don’t mean any harm.”
As the policeman sized him up, recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a glaze of distaste. Reese couldn’t blame him. No doubt the lawman remembered every rotten act he’d committed when he was a youth. Destroying property, tagging fences with spray paint, getting drunk with his friends. In retrospect, Reese didn’t know why he’d done such things. It was as if he’d wanted to get back at his father for all the pain he caused at home.
“Do you want to give them an interview?” Sanders asked.
Reese shook his head. “No, sir. I have nothing to say to any of them.”
A thought occurred to him and he suddenly knew how they’d found him. Over an hour earlier, Milly Carver had delivered extra towels to his room before he went to lunch. No doubt the maid had blabbed that he was here and news had spread like wildfire.
Sanders