Down the Darkest Road

by Kylie Brant

  Mystified, Dylan dug into the bag. Grinned when he drew out a package of Double Stuf Oreos. “Hey, I love these things.”

  “See?” Shrugging out of his coat, T tapped his temple. “I remember all that shit. Never had kids of my own. You and Colton was the closest I ever got.”

  “Thanks.” But Dylan’s earlier pleasure dissipated. Now he felt like a complete douche. He’d spent the morning planning how to drug the guy, and T trots out a memory like that? Dylan put away the stuff from the store, leaving the Tylenol on the counter. Good thing he hadn’t texted Grace his plans for tonight. He couldn’t go through with it. He’d be a complete asshole if he did.

  When he walked into the living room, T was already settled on the couch, the controller in his hand.

  “I should have had you pick up a new game when you were in—”

  “What the fuck!” T interrupted him, his face a mask of rage. His glare would melt steel. “Did you mess with my game?”

  “No.” The whiplash transformation in the man had Dylan instantly wary. “I mean, I started a different one. It shouldn’t have done anything to the one you paused.”

  “Well, you fucking erased it! Goddamn it, you fucking moron.” Teeter sprang up and stalked toward him. “How many times I gotta tell you not to touch my shit?” He grabbed Dylan by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Dylan shoved him hard in the chest. “Get your hands off me!” The guy was crazy! As schizoid as the damn cat he’d brought with him.

  “You want to try something, little man?” Gone was the easygoing Uncle Teeter. The guy shoving his face close to Dylan’s was a stranger. One who’d gone from joking to enraged in one second flat. “Better grow another six inches if you wanna take me on.” He gave Dylan a final push and went back to the game.

  Holy shit. Dylan stood stunned for a minute before tearing down the hallway to his mom’s bedroom. He shut the door and turned to slide down it. Anger fogged his mind. His fists clenched into tight balls. His chest pounded with pent-up fury and something else. Shame. And that pissed him off even more.

  What the hell just happened? It was like someone flipped a switch in T. Just like the time he’d freaked because Dylan had tossed away some uneaten scraps. There was something seriously wrong with the guy. His mom probably didn’t even know about it. How long had it been since she’d seen him? Maybe he’d had a breakdown or something.

  That was probably it, Dylan decided. He felt the cell buzz in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for it. Anger was churning through him, and he was in no mood to talk to Grace. If the marshal called to let him know Forrester was in custody, he’d leave until his mom came back. He didn’t care where he went. Anywhere.

  The thought had some of the emotion streaming out of him. After Maddix’s message, he’d hoped it’d be over soon. And he didn’t know how much more he could take. Because if he wasn’t freaking out about getting shot from Forrester driving by in a green pickup, he had to worry about what would happen the next time T went off. The man was crazy as a betsey bug. And he was armed. Not a great combination.

  He leaned his head against the door, suddenly feeling defeated. Jesus, it just never ended. Maybe he’d have been better off all around if he hadn’t spent so much time trying to hide from Forrester. If Dylan had just walked up to the truck the first time he’d spotted it and let the man blow him away, he could have saved Ethan’s life. Saved that Bahlman kid too.

  A familiar vise of guilt squeezed him. Even when this was done, his responsibility for three deaths lingered. There was no running away from that. No happy ending. Tears stung Dylan’s eyes. He blinked them away.

  Soon. That’s what the marshal had said. But damn, times like this, he didn’t know if getting out of this alive was even worth it.

  He stayed in the bedroom for a long time. Heard the sound effects of T’s game in the background. The cell in his pocket buzzed a couple more times. Several minutes passed before his hand crept into the pocket of his hoodie. Drew out the cell and read Grace’s messages.

  Got idea for project. You as Thomas Jefferson?

  Not a chance. He went to the next one.

  Or no costumes. PPP with founding fathers. Click to different ones when we reference their quote.

  It took him a moment to decipher “PPP.” PowerPoint presentation. Definitely better than costumes. Some of the tension seeped out of him.

  I’d be down w/ PPP, he typed back.

  Or Jeopardy game class can play with us. Turn paper into quiz.

  Where did she come up with these ideas? Ok 2, he texted.

  U texting in bathroom again? Followed by an emoji with the tongue hanging out.

  Bedroom. So don’t strangle uncle. It was stupid how just texting with Grace could make him feel better. She made the world fade away a bit. Had him thinking of just him and her.

  Sorry. Sucks.

  Yeah. Dylan wasn’t even aware of what he was going to say until his fingers typed the next message. I figured out a way to get away 2nite tho.

  NK?????

  He paused, a sliver of trepidation darting through him. If T figured out Dylan had put something in his beer, the scene earlier would be nothing compared to the man’s rage. But lingering resentment punched through the foreboding. Fuck him—he deserved it. So he slept for a while. Big deal. And it wasn’t like Dylan got a chance like this every day. Deliberately, he texted, I’ll let u no a time later.

  T pounded on the door at Dylan’s back as Grace’s response appeared.

  Cant wait!!!

  “You gonna pout in there like a girl all day or you coming out and playing?”

  Resolve hardening, he stood up. Opened the door. He’d play, all right. But T didn’t know the rules to Dylan’s new game.

  Chapter 59

  Cady held the team meeting a mile away, on a gravel road that hopefully would get little traffic. The collection of vehicles was sure to draw attention from any passersby.

  “It’s a trip-wire explosive,” Turner told the group once the teams were all assembled. “It’s set up about ten yards from the front of the house and seems to run the perimeter. It’s visible when you get closer.”

  “That’s similar to what Loomer’s uncle had,” she said, sliding a glance at Miguel. “A deer set it off as we were leaving.”

  “That’d mean it was victim initiated rather than command initiated,” Turner responded.

  “Any sign that the structure was wired?”

  The officer hesitated. “I didn’t go around the entire property. The dogs can sometimes detonate the wires. I’d need to double-check.”

  Cady thought for a moment. “Seems to me, we have two options. The two fugitives may still have a victim inside. A surprise entry is the best solution, but it’s out of the question unless we can ensure the entrances aren’t wired. Once they know we’re out here, it can easily turn into a hostage negotiation, which could go south in a hurry.”

  “We could summon a bomb squad mobile unit,” Miguel said. “It’d take a couple of hours to get one here. Is the victim in imminent danger?”

  Cady’s jaw went tight as she considered what she’d learned about Forrester’s relationships with women. She didn’t know if Cassie Zook was still alive. But if she was, every minute she spent with the fugitives ratcheted up her risk. “She’s been in danger since he abducted her,” she replied. She thought for a moment, then looked back at the handler. “You walked up the drive okay.”

  Looking mystified, Turner responded, “Sure. The drive and concrete walk to the front door are free of wires; otherwise there’s a chance your bandits would trigger them themselves.”

  She nodded. “Maybe there’s a third option. But we need to move fast.”

  Chapter 60

  Cady peered into the Jeep’s side mirror at the house behind her. The single-story structure still looked deserted. The shutters over the front window would block a view to the front. The door looked solid. Which meant no one was g
oing to look out and see them. Hearing them, though. That was the risk.

  At her signal, the team members in the vehicle spilled out, all of them, like her, in tactical gear. Cady backed the Jeep up slowly and stopped as close to the attached garage as she could. Officer Turner, Miguel, and Ryder approached swiftly. She got out and watched the men lift Felix, the K-9, to the top of the Jeep. Turner scrabbled up after her. She watched, with bated breath, as the dog examined the edge of the garage roof within her range. Finally, Turner looked over his shoulder and gave a nod. Cady opened the right back passenger door and climbed onto the seat, bracing her hands on the roof of the vehicle.

  Heaving herself up was made more difficult by the gear she wore, but once there, Cady ran to the rear of the Jeep and jumped to grab the garage roof. Struggled onto it. She was panting by the time she stood. Miguel handed her the equipment. Then Turner joined her, the other team members on the roof of her Jeep lifting the dog to join her handler. There was no way of knowing if the noise they made would be detected. She needed to assume that it would be and act quickly.

  She got on her hands and knees and crawled rapidly. If there was a back entrance and the dog cleared it of explosives, they’d do a simultaneous entry. Members would join her in the rear yard, with others spread outside the perimeter on both sides and an entry team through the garage. But they’d planned for several scenarios.

  She flattened herself against the roof while Turner—with a hand on the dog’s collar—carefully led the animal over the peak, bracing his feet as he went down to keep his balance. Adrenaline was doing a hard knock in her chest as she watched the dog work along the lower edge of the roof. When she got the signal from Turner, Cady took the radio from her belt and spoke into it in a low voice. “Option A is a go. Positions.”

  Chapter 61

  Eric Loomer flipped the light on in the garage and headed to the workbench. He may as well get the rest of the packaging ready for mailing on Monday. Then he wouldn’t have to do a blessed thing tomorrow except lie on the couch and watch TV. Bruce should be back by then. And that son of a bitch would open up about what he’d been doing all week, unless he wanted to get himself a new partner.

  Something caught his attention. There was noise on the roof, like branches hitting it, over and over. But they didn’t have a tree that close to the garage. What the hell?

  He listened for a few more minutes, then rushed into the house. Headed to the front door. Cracked it open. The drive was empty, but he caught glimpses of unfamiliar vehicles down the road, through the bared brush. Shit, shit, shit! He hadn’t been paranoid last night after all. Someone had followed him back here.

  Panic surged through his veins. He shut the door and grabbed his coat before dashing to his bedroom for his Glock. He paused a second, then backtracked to Bruce’s bedroom. Shoving open the door, he strode to the bed and pulled the woman to her feet. His arm snaked around her neck, and he dragged her after him as he ran to the back door. He opened it a sliver. The backyard was empty.

  He pressed the muzzle of the gun against her temple. “You make a sound and I blow you away. Got it?”

  She nodded. Maybe she wasn’t as out of it as he’d thought. He stuck the toe of his boot into the open crack in the door and tightened his grip on the woman as he pulled her out onto the deck. Down the three steps to the yard.

  “Eric Loomer.” His head craned one way and then the other. Where the hell? “United States Marshals Service. You are surrounded. Step away from the woman and set down your weapon. Put your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”

  “The fuck . . .” Above. The words were coming from above him. He looked up. Stared. Four black-clad figures were on the roof of the garage and the house. Helmeted. Anonymous. Each held a rifle pointed at him.

  “Step away from the female and set down your weapon. Now! Right now!”

  The woman was deadweight in his grip. He shoved the gun against her face again. “Stay back,” he yelled. They wouldn’t shoot him as long as he had her, would they? “Stay back, or I blow her head off.” The line of rifles never wavered. The barrels followed him as he hauled her across the yard. No fucking way was he going down for this. No. Fucking. Way. “Stay back,” he shouted again. The only exit was the thick hedge of bared brush bordering three sides of the yard. But he could make it. He . . .

  The woman in his arms came to life. She drove an elbow into his gut, twisting and fighting wildly, forcing him to readjust his grip on her. “Goddamn it, stay still.” He raised the weapon to bring it down on her head, but she’d leaned forward, sinking her teeth into the arm he had around her neck. He screamed in pain. She went limp, and he had to release her to avoid being pulled to the ground. Without her as cover, he was exposed. He turned and crashed through the brambles, the branches tearing at his clothes. Clawing at his face.

  He heard the voice again as he burst out of the brush. “Cassie Zook, roll away from the bushes. This way! This way! Move! Perimeter team, suspect on the run, northwest corner of the lot.”

  Eric sprinted toward freedom, becoming belatedly aware of two things. More rifle-armed shooters were waiting for him. And the wire. The fucking wire . . . It rushed up too fast. He leaped, trying to clear it.

  When he caught it with the toe of his boot, the sound of the blast ripped through the air, and his body exploded in agony.

  Chapter 62

  “I feel like a badass.” Grace shot Dylan a wicked smile as she put the car into gear and pulled slowly away from the side of the road.

  “Bonnie and Clyde,” he joked. He put on his seat belt—he might need it; he had no idea what kind of driver she’d be—and leaned against the seat, his heart galloping. And that was only partly because he’d run the mile and a half to the house where he’d had her mom drop him last time. Most of the seething emotion in his gut was because of the way he’d gotten free.

  It’d taken a little doing getting the powder into Teeter’s beer. He’d finally decided to wait until the man had already had a few. Dylan had pushed him on that end. “Want another beer, Uncle T?” A little powder had gone into each. He’d encouraged an early supper, although he’d worried that food would counteract the alcohol and muscle relaxants. While Dylan was cleaning up afterward, he’d twisted off the top of a beer and taken the medicine bottle out of his pocket, pouring the rest of the powder into it. Then he’d tightened the cap again and taken it out to his uncle, who was watching TV in the other room.

  “Did you really drug your uncle?”

  “Muscle relaxants. He’ll be fine.” Dylan spoke with more authority than he felt. There was a tangle of guilt in his chest, but the man had had it coming. And for a while this afternoon, he’d thought nothing was going to happen. T had just done a lot of yawning. But an hour after that last beer, he was snoring like a chain saw, stretched out on the couch, the remote still in his hand.

  “I’m impressed.”

  Because she really sounded like she was, he shrugged away the lingering anxiety. “I was desperate. If I hadn’t gotten out of that house soon, I’d have offed myself.”

  She braked for the stop sign at the end of the road. Made a perfect turn toward town. “My biggest fear is that some nosy neighbor saw this car leave our garage. Hopefully my parents didn’t have time to talk to anyone about their plans. They were sort of last-minute.”

  “My biggest fear is that he’ll wake up before I can crawl back in the bedroom window.” They grinned at each other like seasoned coconspirators. Getting the damn screen off after raising the window in his mom’s room had been a chore by itself. He’d left it unsecured, just setting it back in place after he’d gotten through it. He hoped he could pull it up after him when he returned, so he could lock it again. Dylan leaned forward and turned the radio to a station he liked.

  “I’ve had driver’s ed, and I have a permit. I’m still on stage one, though, so hopefully if a cop sees us, they’ll think you’re an adult.”

  Driver’s ed and a permit weren’
t even on the horizon for Dylan. But he knew the rules. She wouldn’t be able to drive without an adult until being on stage one for six months. “Is this going to be your car when you can drive alone?”

  “I’m working on my dad to buy me something new.” She made a face. “My mom probably won’t let him, though. She says all kids wreck their first car.”

  “Not always.” Colton hadn’t had an accident yet. At least not that Dylan knew of.

  “I know. But she’s like helicopter mom personified. This is her car. She’ll probably get a new one.”

  He couldn’t even imagine living in a family where you assumed your parents would buy you a car. Or had parents who could. It was a big deal at his house when his mom brought home groceries. Once again, he wondered if Grace would be interested in him if she really understood how different their lives were.

  Or if she knew he was responsible for three kids’ deaths. The thought was accompanied by a dark snake of dread.

  One of her hands left the wheel and snuck over to take his. And just like that, Dylan’s doubts faded away. She took her eyes off the road for just a moment to look at him. And smile that smile that had his stomach doing flips. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

  His fingers curled around hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

  Chapter 63

  Cady called up to surgery, but Eric Loomer was still in recovery. She walked down the hallway and pushed open Cassie Zook’s door. The woman watched her entrance with expressionless eyes. “Your sister is on her way.” Cady’s voice was quiet. The woman’s Asheville hospital room had muted lighting. Soft music playing. None of it seemed to have much effect on the patient. Cassie Zook’s stare was as blank as it’d been when she’d been rescued from the mountain home.

  “Do you remember me from this afternoon? I’m Cady, with the Marshals Service. The man who abducted you. Do you know where he is?”