Deadline (Sandra Brown)

with cops. I hadn’t thought of that. I guess maybe I do have shit for brains. Ha-ha!
My mama and daddy always said so. I thought about them today when I got the news about the baby. They’re great-grandparents. Or they are if they’re still alive, which I doubt. They’d be old now.
Over the years I’ve wondered if they followed my career. I’ve thought, wouldn’t it be funny if sometime they saw my picture on a Wanted poster in the post office? Would they be proud that I’d made something of myself even if it was as an outlaw? Or would Daddy just shake his head and mutter, “Shit for brains,” like he always did whenever I did something he thought was silly or a waste of time.
I might not have run away so young if they’d been just a little bit nicer to me and not always putting me down. I liked Carl right off because he boosted my self-esteem. He made me feel smarter and prettier than Mama and Daddy ever had.
Of course, that was years ago. He knows now I’m not all that smart. Living the way we have, I haven’t been able to take good care of myself. Pretty I ain’t!
Good Lord, where did all that come from? I was writing about Jeremy’s wedding. I read the newspaper story about it over and over again. The reception must have been something to see. Like in a fairy tale. An orchestra played. Amelia is beautiful. (Her picture was in the newspaper.)
I must say, even though she was handpicked as part of Carl’s plan, I don’t think Jeremy looks on being married to a pretty thing like her as a hardship. He says she treats him good, too.
Carl got a little put out with him the last time he visited us here in the cabin. It was Amelia this and Amelia that until Carl told him to shut up, that he sounded like a moonstruck fool. “This is no love match, and don’t forget it.” I think Jeremy does forget, though. Because he talks about her like he loves her.
Like last time he came here to see us, he told about this picnic they’d had. She’d surprised him with it. She fried the chicken herself and packed it in a big basket. (I’ve seen picnic baskets like that in the movies.) Anyhow, he said that right in the middle of the picnic, it started to rain. But instead of it ruining things, they grabbed the chicken and ran back to the car, laughing their heads off.
I thought it was a funny story, the way Jeremy told it. But Carl didn’t. He reminded Jeremy that his wife is only part of the grand scheme. Jeremy stopped laughing and got this sad look on his face. I think he likes his wife more than he lets on to his daddy. But Carl has this…what’s the word? Influence. Carl has this influence over Jeremy that’s so strong, I believe he’ll do anything for him, even if his heart isn’t in it.
I wonder how he feels about the baby? Not what he tells Carl, or even me, but what he feels deep down in his heart. I don’t know what to wish for. Should I wish that he loves his baby boy? Or that he doesn’t?
If he does love him, it’ll be hard for him to see the plan through and leave his son with Amelia. Being separated from your baby is like having a piece of your heart torn out. I know, because I’ve had years of it. Maybe it’s different for men. I hope so. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anybody.
Now I have a new worry—Afganastan (sp?). Jeremy will be shipping out soon, and he’s excited to be going back to war. He survived Iraq without a scratch. I was so thankful. Now I’ll worry myself sick every day he’s over there. Carl poo-poos my concern. He says Jeremy is a chip off the old block, a natural-born killer, who won’t be afraid of any ragheads.
I pretended not to hear that, because I hate to think of my baby boy as a man who could kill as easily as Carl has. (But to be fair, he hasn’t killed anybody in the past several years.)
What will become of little Hunter, I wonder. Will he ever know my name? I wish I could hold him just once. Is that too much to ask? I guess so, because I know it will never happen.
     

Chapter 23
    L ike everybody, when it was expedient, Dawson told white lies. Those small equivocations were harmless, usually told to protect the one being lied to as much as to shield himself from some unpleasantness. They rarely pricked his conscience.
    But it chafed to be devious with three people who mattered to him. Eva had been too relieved over Headly’s condition to notice his shiftiness. Headly had known something was up, but his sharp mind had been dulled by anesthesia. Amelia,