The Target

She beat them to sleep by five minutes.

Molly awoke at midnight at the final stroke from a big grandfather clock in the corner out in the corridor. There was a quarter moon sending a white shaft of light through the open window. It wasn't too cold, just cold enough to make you pull the covers to your chin and let the fresh air hit your face.

It was the first time she'd slept over three hours in more than two weeks. Sixteen days, she thought, suddenly sitting up just to look over to see Emma curled up into a ball, the pillow hugged to her chest, her beautiful hair, free of its braid, tangled about her head. She was safe.

She felt tears sting her eyes, felt them ooze out and slowly trickle over her cheeks. They'd been so very lucky. As it turned out, she hadn't been the important one in the equation, not that she'd ever really believed she actually would be.

Ramsey Hunt. He'd saved her daughter. He would have continued to protect her until he'd gotten her back safely.

The tears came more freely. She sobbed. Oh no, that was humiliating. She stuffed her fist into her mouth.

"Molly? It's okay."

How had he heard her? Emma was still sound asleep. He said quietly, "Cry, it's good for you. I'll bet this is the first time you've had the luxury to just let go. Think you can?"

She kept crying and he kept talking, saying nothing really, just nonsense. Then, "Mama, what's wrong?"

Emma sounded terrified.

Ramsey said quickly, "It's all right, Emma. Roll over and hug your mama. She's just crying because she's so relieved you're safe. She's been on the edge for a really long time. She's been really scared for you."

Molly was hiccuping, crying, and now laughing. Emma had wrapped her arms around her.

"I feel better now. Thanks, Em." She kissed her daughter's neck, and felt as happy as she'd ever felt in her life. In that instant, she remembered another moment, a long time ago, when she'd believed there was no way she could have been happier. It had been a lie.

The three of them went back to sleep, Ramsey's feet hanging off the end of the cot. It was Ramsey who woke near three o'clock in the morning.

Maybe he'd heard something. His brain was still turned inward to a pleasant dream. It was about Susan. She was wearing her uniform and smiling. She saluted him, then poked him in the belly. Once he was fully awake, though, bittersweet memories flooded through him. Then suddenly, it all just faded back into time. He wanted no more dreams about Susan.

He heard it again. Could they be that good?

Very slowly, he stood up. He saw that both Emma and Molly were still asleep. He heard only Molly's deep, even breathing. He was glad for that. He didn't want them frightened.

He stood up, felt his stiff leg lock on him, and grabbed one of the high chair backs. Not unexpected. He held very still and listened.

It was a shuffling sound. It was coming from the corridor, just outside their room door. He picked up his pistol from the small circular table beside the cot. He forced his leg to move, one step at a time, quietly, toward the door, pausing every few steps to listen.

He heard voices. No, it wasn't possible that it could be trouble. There was just no way they could have found out where they were. The hotel registration hadn't demanded an ID. There was no way anyone could know they were here. But they had seen the Jeep. They could have easily traced the license plate, or even spotted it coming into town. He cursed. He was an idiot. Tomorrow, he'd have to turn it in, maybe buy a used car, another Jeep, or any four-wheel-drive vehicle. He heard the voices again, too low for him to make out what they were saying.

He held his Smith & Wesson ready.

It was a man's voice, low and urgent, clear now. "Listen, Doris, you want to sneak back in there, you do it. But your old man could be awake even as we speak. I don't want him to blow my head off. No, don't go in there. If you do, just wait until I get out of here."

He leaned his head against the door, relief pouring through him. It was a wife screwing around on her husband.

It wasn't anybody after Emma.

He heard a woman's voice, with just a touch of hysteria in it. It would be better if she didn't try to sneak back in, he thought, but thank goodness, it wasn't any of his business. He silently checked the lock and the chain.

He laid the Smith & Wesson back on the circular table. When he turned to the cot, he saw Molly sitting up, staring toward him.

He whispered, "It's nothing, just a wife cheating on her husband."

Emma said in a sleepy voice, "It couldn't be him, could it, Ramsey? He didn't see really good. He didn't wear his glasses all of the time. That's how I got away. I made my pillow look like me when he was out smoking a cigarette on the front steps. When he came back, he looked for me, and thought he saw me. I crawled out the front door when he was drinking a glass of whiskey. He really liked whiskey. He kept saying he didn't like it, that it rotted his soul, but he drank it, lots of it."