Desert Ice Daddy Marton, Dana (most motivational books .TXT) 📖

She glanced toward the first-aid kit, for a moment torn between helping him and rushing out into the night yelling her son’s name.

He caught her. “We don’t have time for that.” He was opening Jake’s cell phone. “Flint,” he told her as he dialed, then talked into the phone when the call was picked up. “We’re at the old refinery. We need everything you’ve got, choppers, ground vehicles, whatever. Christopher is lost somewhere around here.” He listened. “She’s fine.” He listened again. “Yeah, I know it’s hard to find in the dark. I’ll send a beacon. You won’t be able to miss it.”

With that, he hung up and reached for a blanket from his camping supplies, ripped a long strip off, walked it to the pickup, unscrewed the cap on the gas tank and shoved one end deep inside before going around and getting a fistful of papers from the glove compartment. Then he opened the hood and bent under it.

“What are you doing?” She moved closer and watched him pull wires.

“Trying to get a spark.”

And she understood at last. “How about this?” She pulled the lighter from her pocket.

“You’re brilliant.” He kissed her hard on the mouth as he took it and went back. “Start running.”

“One more thing.” She moved to the cab and pulled the two briefcases from behind the front seat, then took off.

He waited until she was a good hundred yards away, lit the end of the strip of cloth then hurried after her. They had maybe two hundred feet between them and the pickup before it exploded and lit up the night sky.

The sound of a helicopter came from a distance, filling her stomach with dread. No way Flint could have gotten here this fast. “Who is that?”

“Probably the boss, coming to pick up his money.” Jake took the briefcases from her and doubled his speed. “Jake wasn’t the brains behind the kidnapping.”

They had no time for her to ask where and how he’d gotten the information, and for the moment it didn’t much matter.

The chopper dipped lower, apparently having noticed them in the light of the flames. Then whoever was up there opened fire.

SHE RAN BLINDLY, too scared to think.

“We need to split up,” Akeem shouted behind her.

She heard him, but couldn’t make herself go in any other direction except the way she had sent Christopher. He must have understood, because after a moment, he veered off sharply to the right.

She glanced back in time to see him run toward a clump of low bushes and dive among them, bringing up one of the briefcases for protection. The chopper went after him. Her heart about stopped. What was he doing? He would have been better off staying a moving target.

But when he returned fire at the chopper, and after a few seconds the helicopter lifted higher then banked to the left and pulled away, she realized he was doing the exact right thing, as he had been doing since he had shown up at the farmhouse and offered his money and his life to help her.

That they were still alive was a miracle. But they didn’t have Christopher. She kept going, knowing Akeem would catch up with her, and he did within minutes.

“Christopher?” she yelled into the night. “Christopher, honey?”

He moved off and gathered some dried branches from the bushes surrounding them, lit some shriveled leaves that still clung to the tips and used the makeshift torch to light their way. “He’ll see this from farther away.”

Provided that he was nearby. He was just a four-year-old out in the dark. He could have veered off course, gone in circles for all she knew. He’d gone off over half an hour ago. She would not think that he could have already been carried off by a coyote or a cougar, or bitten by a snake and lying crumpled under a bush somewhere.

“Christopher?” Akeem called out. His voice was deeper, probably carried farther in the night.

She listened carefully for a response that didn’t come.

They walked on, taking turns calling out, stopped every once in a while to listen, but heard nothing beyond the usual night noises of the desert. They met no wildlife, which gave her hope, although all their yelling was probably responsible for that. They had likely scared every living thing away.

They moved pretty fast, rapidly approaching the limit of how far a little boy could have gotten in the given time. Her hope was dwindling with each stretch of dirt they covered now, fear gripping her heart tighter and tighter.

“Christopher?” She was hoarse. They both were.

“Mom?” A pipsqueak of a voice came from above.

“Christopher.” She searched the branches above frantically. They were in a sparse grove of trees. “Christopher?” And then she saw a bulk on one of the branches.

It moved.

“I’m too scared to come down, Mom.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll catch you.” Akeem tossed his latest torch—he’d had to make a few as they’d kept burning down—and stood right under the spot, holding his arms out. “Just jump. I’ll be right here.”

Christopher hesitated. He didn’t know Akeem all that well, Taylor realized. He’d been all alone in the dark, scared, traumatized from being kidnapped.

“We’ll catch you together.” She moved over and reached her arms up. “We are here now, honey. You don’t have to worry about anything. You can trust Akeem. We can trust him.”

“Are the bad men here?” He still hung on. “I’m scared of the bad men, Mom.”

The fear in his voice squeezed her insides. “The bad men are gone. They can never hurt us again.”

And then he shifted, and the next thing she knew, he was dropping into her arms, into Akeem’s arms, which he held below hers to support them. She held Christopher as Akeem held the both of them. She soaked in the moment and let relief wash over her. The rush of emotions was making her knees go weak.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I couldn’t find Uncle Flint.” He snuggled into her, burrowing against her chest,