The Target

"But it gives the cops a real chance at them now. So there are at least four other guys besides the kidnapper. I wonder how many people are involved in this? And why? It isn't just a kidnapping, Molly."

    "I don't like it," Emma said, snuggling close to her mother. "I don't like it at all."

    Their eyes met. "Neither do we, Emma. Neither do we," Molly said.

    Ramsey pulled back onto the highway. There was no sign of the black pickup, thank the good Lord.

9

    AFTER MOLLY SHOWED him a weighty wad of one-hundred-dollar bills and assured him she had lots more in her bra, Ramsey got them a junior suite at the Jerome, providing them a false name.and paying cash. They were shown to a huge single room filled with Victorian furniture, long red or gold fringe on the lamps, and wall-to-wall carpeting woven with big cabbage roses and copious vines. There was violent red wallpaper in the bathroom, which had been updated to a rich pink marble. The old with the new-it was a fascinating combination. There was a sitting area at one end of the big room, with the bed, dresser, and a couple of more chairs at the other. There were tall windows with rich velvet draperies. "I always wanted to stay here," Ramsey said, standing back. "I saw the place way back when I was a kid here on a ski break. It's something, isn't it?"

    "Yes," Molly said. "They didn't have two beds? Just this king?"

    "We're married, remember? Don't look at it too long, it'll make you bilious. Also, don't worry about it. They're bringing up a cot for me." The spread was a bright blue velvet with red tassels that screamed Victorian Wild West.

    Emma said, "What's 'bilious'?" "Bad liver stuff."

    He saw her repeat the word a couple of more times beneath her breath. He smiled as he watched Molly go down on her knees and hug Emma until, suddenly, she squealed. Molly let her loose and the both of them began to laugh. "It's a game we play," Molly said. "If Emma can let me hug her for a whole minute without making a single sound, then she gets an ice cream. Actually, she usually wins. Are you feeling sorry for me, kiddo?"

    "I just wanted to see you smile really big, Mama."

    "Then you won the smile out of me."

    Molly had a single duffel bag, Emma had her stuffed pillowcase, and Ramsey had two suitcases. He'd locked his mom's old Olivetti typewriter and all the pages he'd managed to write during his stay before Emma, and some books and novels in the Jeep. The hotel brought up a cot for him, too short, but he just shook his head at her when she would have protested.

    Actually, Ramsey didn't care if he slept on the floor. His leg hurt like hell, he had a headache, and he felt as if he'd hit a brick wall. Molly looked as if she had her nose pressed against that same brick wall. She was standing in the middle of the room, running her hand through her rioting red hair.

    He smiled. "You want me to give Emma a bath? No, I take that back. She can bathe herself."

    "She's really not very good at it, but she does try." Molly grabbed Emma up and sniffed behind her ear. "Smells sweet. You did a good job. You want me to bathe you this time, Em? Just for a change?"

    Emma nodded happily.

    Molly turned to Ramsey, who looked ready to fall over. "You just lie down. I'll bring you some aspirin. Do you put an ice pack on the leg?"

    "I hadn't thought of that. Why not?"

    "Good. Lie down, Ramsey. I'll be right back."

    After she'd watched him wash down three aspirin and she'd laid the ice wrapped in a towel over his bandaged leg, she said, "Do you mind if we don't go to the Cantina?"

    "I'll see if they deliver."

    They did, for a fifty-buck service charge. It was Aspen, he thought, as he ate a ten-dollar taco.

    EXHAUSTION hit big time after they'd consumed a good half dozen beef tacos, and enough chips and salsa for a football team. Emma had some guacamole smeared on her chin when it was all over and she'd looked wonderful. She was asleep ten minutes later, next to her mother, just after they'd gotten her to brush her teeth.

    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