Free The Target by Catherine Coulter Page B

so very busy.”
    â€œYes, Mama.”
    Time to move along, quickly, Ramsey thought, and said, “So you gave the cops all of two days then you struck out on your own?”
    â€œYes. There was nothing I could do at home except go quietly nuts.”
    He wanted to tell her that if the kidnappers called, they’d have wanted to speak to her. Then he realized that any female police officer could do that duty. He didn’t say anything. Emma was all ears.
    â€œI’ve been traveling from Aspen to Vail to Keystone and all the places in-between. Dillinger was my final try.”
    â€œYou lucked out. As I said, if she hadn’t needed clothes, I wouldn’t have taken her to Dillinger. I’d been here at the cabin for nearly two weeks before I found Emma.”
    â€œWhy were you here of all places?”
    He shrugged, looking down at his coffee. “It got to be just too much,” he said at last. “Just too much. The tabloids just wouldn’t let up. The paparazzi were leaping out from behind my bushes to catch me unawares.”
    â€œThey call you Judge Dredd.”
    â€œIt’s ridiculous, all of it.” He started to curse, realized that Emma was staring up at him, and took a deep breath. “I took three months off and got away from everything—people, phones, TVs, everything. Then I found Emma.” He leaned over and cupped Emma’s chin in his palm. There was color in her cheeks. She looked little-kid beautiful, and healthy. “Why don’t you go wash up and put on your jeans and a real bright shirt. Your mom and I will talk and decide what we should do.”
    She looked worried. “Mama, you won’t try to shoot Ramsey again, will you?”
    â€œI never drink a man’s coffee then hurt him, honey. It’s not done.”
    â€œMama, you made a joke.” Emma beamed at her.
    â€œYes, a good joke,” Ramsey said. “Go, Emma.”
    He sat back in his chair and looked at the woman across from him. “Emma drew several pictures of you. In all ofthem you were smiling really big.” But now she wasn’t smiling. She was pale and thin and had the reddest hair he’d ever seen, all curly, just like Emma’s drawings. Her eyes were a sort of green-grayish color, a bit tilted at the corners, sort of exotic. She didn’t have any freckles, and she didn’t look a thing like Emma.
    â€œI’ve been calling her ‘sweetheart.’ I like Emma. It suits her.”
    â€œIt was my grandmother’s name.”
    She sat forward, intent, then suddenly jumped to her feet and began pacing the small kitchen, hyper now from the coffee, alert, and ready for answers. “How did you find Emma?”
    â€œIt was exactly eight days ago. I was out chopping logs when I heard this strange sound, you know, a sound I shouldn’t have heard here. I tracked it down and found her unconscious in the woods. I spotted her only because she was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt. I brought her back here and took care of her. She didn’t speak until she yelled at you.”
    He saw the question in her eyes and slowly nodded. “Yes, she’d been beaten and sexually assaulted. There wasn’t any sodomy that I could tell, but then again, I’m not a doctor. She’s much better now, even though last night she had a nightmare.” He stopped and shook his head. “It took her a good four days to trust me. She’s a great kid.”
    Tears were running out of her eyes and down her cheeks, dripping off her lips. She sniffled. He handed her a napkin and she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
    â€œShe’s only six years old. She was kidnapped by a child molester and it was all my fault. If only—”
    â€œStop it, just stop it. I’ve known you for an hour and I know you didn’t leave her unattended, wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her. Now, I don’t want to hear any more of that