Hide the Child

by Janice Kay Johnson

  A dusty plume rose behind the truck. He’d driven only until he passed out of sight over a rise before he braked and maneuvered until he was facing back the way he’d come. Then he drove slowly until he could see the damn cop.

  Waiting, he felt his gut seething. He kept glancing at his phone. He could call Trina, but all he’d do was scare her.

  On the highway, a pickup pulling a stock trailer passed. Not a likely speeder. The police car stayed where it was.

  His phone rang. He looked down at the strange number and knew. Trina.

  * * *

  IT WAS DETECTIVE DEPERRO who got out of the second car, Trina saw in surprise. Why wouldn’t they have come together?

  Advancing on his partner, Deperro didn’t even glance at the house. He looked mad, she realized. Wanting to hear what they were saying, she grabbed the rifle and unlocked and cracked open the front door.

  “...shouldn’t have come.” That was Risvold.

  “We have a meeting set up. You know that. This—” the other detective’s sweeping gesture including the cabin, the SUV and Risvold himself “—doesn’t look good.”

  Risvold was sweating profusely. Half-turned as he was to face his partner, she thought he said, “I tried to keep you out of this.”

  Her uneasiness crystalized and she fumbled with the safety, then raised the barrel of the rifle, but too late. Risvold pulled his gun and shot Detective Deperro in the chest. Shock on his face, Deperro staggered back, fell.

  Furious but also feeling weirdly calm, Trina sighted and shot out the window of the SUV. “Drop the gun!” she yelled.

  Risvold wheeled toward her and fired. The crack and thud when the bullet plowed into the heavy wooden door seemed simultaneous.

  She fired back, probably a little wildly. The bullet skimmed the side of the SUV. Risvold swore viciously and leaped behind it.

  She suddenly realized she couldn’t see Deperro. Which meant he wasn’t dead. He must have crawled, because he sure hadn’t jumped to his feet; she’d have seen that. Maybe he and Risvold were both taking refuge behind the rear of the SUV, which wouldn’t be good.

  Gabe, please hurry. Boyd, where are you? But she knew, in some part of her mind, that hardly any time had actually passed.

  “Trina?” A scared voice came from behind her.

  Oh, God, of course the gunshots had awakened Chloe.

  “Honey, I need you to—” No, no, she couldn’t tell her to hide, to not come out until Trina or Gabe told her so. Once in a lifetime was enough. Except—Trina desperately wanted her to have a life. “Get down behind the couch,” she said. “A man is shooting at the house, and I don’t want him to hit you by accident.”

  The second she saw the little girl duck behind that hefty leather sofa, Trina turned back to peer through the crack again. Risvold...no sight of him. But Detective Deperro had somehow gotten up. Emerging from the other side of the SUV, he bent over and ran toward the far corner of the cabin.

  Another shot rang out. He hit the ground, rolled and grabbed his thigh. Trina fired again, this time aiming through the nonexistent windshield and out a side window, she hoped very close to where Risvold must be crouched. Right above his head would be good.

  She heard swearing and fired again. Deperro staggered to his feet and kept going.

  She had to ignore the whimper from behind the couch.

  I’ll run out of bullets, she realized, not quite as calmly. Gabe had said the Savage Model 110 had a four-cartridge box. Five shots, with one already loaded. She counted. How many times had she already fired? Three? No, four. One more. Then she’d have to go for the handgun.

  A pounding at the back door had her lurching around. Oh. It had to be Boyd or Leon. She hesitated only an instant, made sure Risvold was still out of sight, closed and locked the door.

  Ignoring the whimper from behind the sofa, she ran.

  * * *

  GABE DROVE LIKE a madman.

  The sheriff’s department car had suddenly pulled out onto the highway and accelerated. The rack of lights came on, red, white, blue, rotating. Boyd had said he’d call 911. Gabe hoped this deputy was on his way to the ranch.

  But damn it, he turned off on a lonely crossroad and raced up over a rise.

  From that moment on, Gabe floored it. He didn’t slow down even when he groped for his ringing phone.

  “Leon’s out in hell-and-beyond to rescue a steer tangled in barbed wire,” Boyd reported tensely. “I’m on my way, but close to ten minutes out. I’m hearing shots.”

  Gabe breathed a word that might have been a profanity or a prayer. Or both. “I might beat you there,” he said. “I’ll pass the cutoff, and approach from behind the cabin.”

  “Don’t shoot me.” Boyd was gone.

  If that was meant to be funny, it missed its mark. The urgency driving Gabe left no room for humor.

  * * *

  THE KITCHEN DOOR had a glass inset. Rifle raised in firing position, Trina peered around the corner from the living room.

  It was Detective Deperro looking to one side, then turning suddenly, as if he’d heard her, to stare right at her.

  He raised a fist and mimicked knocking, even as he darted another look toward the far corner of the cabin.

  Queasy, Trina couldn’t help wondering if the fight out front had been a setup, designed to make her trust one of the two partners and let him in. What if that first bullet had been, she didn’t know, a blank? But the second one...no, she’d seen blood blossom on Deperro’s leg.

  Wait. He must be wearing a bulletproof vest. That’s why the shot had knocked him down but not injured him significantly.

  Make a decision.

  It wasn’t any kind of decision, she realized almost immediately. He could use the butt of his gun to knock out the glass so he could let himself in. In fact, he could have done that already, instead of waiting politely despite the stress and pain he must be feeling. Her only other option was to shoot him. Of course she couldn’t do that.

  A thought floated absurdly through her head. Gabe hadn’t built his cabin to withstand a siege. She’d bet he was going to be sorry.

  She rushed forward and unlocked the door, throwing it open.

  Deperro flung himself in, and she saw that the leg of his cargo pants was soaked with blood.

  “Oh, no. Did it hit an artery? You should lie down and elevate your leg.” She sounded, and felt, hysterical.

  His dark eyes met hers. “No, I wouldn’t have made it this far if the artery was spurting. It hurts like a mother—” He censored himself. “But I’ll live. Listen, we don’t have time for this.”

  “No.” Trina sprinted for the living room. Seeing Chloe huddled in a small ball, she stopped. “Sweetie, please go upstairs to the bedroom.”

  Except for the shivers, Chloe didn’t move, didn’t respond. Didn’t even lift her head. Trina wanted to go to her but couldn’t.

  She hated that the closed blinds didn’t let her see out front at all. After grabbing the handgun, she leaned the rifle against the wall beside the door.

  A dragging footstep behind her was followed by the detective saying softly, “Well, hello, little one.” Then, obviously speaking to Trina, “Where’s the guy who’s been calling me?”

  “On his way. Here any minute.” She had to believe that. She pressed her back to the door. “What happened?”

  “Damn. You got some towels or something else I can use?”

  “There’s a bathroom under the staircase.”

  She watched him go, then undid the dead bolt, gripped the Colt and cracked the door, ready to shoot. Nothing happened. She peered out. No movement. But Risvold could be on the porch already. Without sticking her head out, she wouldn’t see him if he was off five feet to one side or another. Holding her breath, she listened. The silence was absolute.

  “I’m making a mess,”
Deperro said. “I’m sorry.”

  She checked over her shoulder. He’d ripped a towel lengthwise and somehow tied half of it around his thigh, the other half folded to provide a pad.

  Her laugh broke. “That’s the least of our problems.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He was staring at the thin band of sunlight. “I’ve been wondering about Risvold, but...damn, I still can’t believe he’s crooked. I told him what your friend said, that we were meeting at four, and a couple of minutes later he made an excuse and sidled out. I followed him.”

  “But...what can he do by himself?”

  Those eyes were now black, the set of his mouth grim. “I don’t think he’ll be by himself for long.”

  Suddenly light-headed, she wheeled to peer through the crack again, and saw a cloud of dust out on the road.

  * * *

  GABE’S TRUCK ROCKETED down the dirt road. He’d lowered the windows but didn’t hear any shots. What if he was too late? What if he found Trina and Chloe—No, damn it! He wouldn’t even think that.

  He passed the cutoff to his cabin, drove another two or three hundred yards, then steered off the road, bumping over rough ground. He parked, leaped out and ran. He wasn’t halfway to the cabin when he saw a cloud of dirt rising where his had just settled. Reinforcements? Bad enough that Trina was already having to face down two armed, experienced cops.

  Unless she was dead, taken out by one of those shots.

  He willed the fear away. With luck, Boyd had beaten him here.

  He broke from the trees behind the paddock and barn. An engine—no, more than that, at least two—announced the approach of more vehicles. Mack and the gelding were snorting, moving restlessly but sticking close to the barn. Smart. Stepping lightly, Gabe eased around the corner to where he could see the back of the cabin. Nothing there. The door was still closed, the window intact.

  A voice behind him said softly, “Yo, it’s me.”

  He spun in a shooting position, his brain catching up in time to keep his finger from tightening on the trigger. Sweat darkened Boyd’s hair and his T-shirt, creating a sheen on his face. He carried a handgun that he must have had with him in case of trouble.

  “Has she called again?” Boyd asked.

  “Not a word.” Gabe pulled his keys from his pocket. “Ready?”

  They didn’t run, just moved as quietly as a pair of ghosts, sweeping the surroundings with their guns as they went. At the back door, Boyd covered him while Gabe unlocked it. They stepped inside. He immediately heard a man’s voice. Son of a bitch.

  He didn’t even look at Boyd, just walked toward the living room without making a sound.

  First, he saw Chloe, squeezed to try to make herself invisible. He evaluated her with lightning speed. Her whole body trembled. She didn’t even look up. Scared out of her skull, but alive. Then he saw the man’s back. Hair as dark as Leon’s, but this guy was a lot bigger. He clearly hadn’t heard the man approaching behind him.

  Gabe measured the distance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It’s an SUV.” Trina spoke tensely. “Another one’s coming behind it.”

  “Crap,” Deperro muttered. “Why don’t you let me take the front, you get where you can see the back door?”

  “Don’t shoot,” a dark, deep voice said.

  Trina spun and saw that Deperro had done the same. “It’s Gabe!” she cried, having to stiffen her knees to keep from crumpling to the floor in relief.

  His eyes met hers fleetingly, the expression so raw her heart skipped a beat. The next second, her personal warrior stared hard at the detective. “What’s he doing here?”

  The two of them tried to talk over each other. Trina fell silent and let Detective Deperro tell his story.

  “Hey, honey,” another man said. Then, “Who is he?”

  Trina’s sinuses burned, but damned if she’d let herself cry. “Boyd. You came.”

  He offered his charming smile. “Always.”

  She had the feeling he meant that literally.

  Then she paid attention to what was happening out front. Two SUVs slammed to a stop, doors flying open as men jumped out. Four, five, six... eight. And Risvold, who must have scurried bent over as far as the rear of the sedan, straightened to meet his army.

  “Eight men,” she reported. “Nine, with Risvold. And...they’re armed.” Carrying what she was afraid were semiautomatic—or even fully automatic?—rifles that made the bolt-action Savage she’d been shooting seem useless. She focused on one of the men. “I think that’s Ronald Pearson.”

  Gabe swiftly edged her aside and took a look. “In person,” he murmured, before snapping out his next order. “Go unlock the gun cabinet.”

  She hustled. Once it was open, Gabe told her which of the remaining rifles he wanted.

  Voice a little husky, he said, “Good, thanks,” when she brought it to him.

  Without asking, Boyd chose another for himself.

  “You have something I can borrow?” the detective asked.

  Boyd scrutinized him. “You any good with a rifle?”

  “Trained as a sniper. Army,” he added.

  Boyd relaxed subtly. “All right, then.”

  Deperro hobbled over and took the last rifle. Watching Gabe’s unrevealing back, Trina heard the bolt slide and knew Deperro was verifying that the weapon was loaded.

  “Can somebody trade out the magazine for me?” she asked, hoping none of the men heard the tremor in her voice. “It should still have one cartridge loaded.”

  Boyd moved a lot like Gabe did, she suddenly realized. Both were almost uncannily graceful. Power was visible in their strides, but leashed. She doubted either ever broke so much as a twig underfoot.

  “They’re spreading out to surround us,” Gabe said in a voice so level it raised the hair on the back of her neck. “Looks like a couple of them are carrying AK-47s, or something similar. Crap, there’s either an AR-15 or an Omega 9mm. Boyd, did you call 911?”

  “Yes. The sheriff’s department doesn’t have a great response time, but somebody should have been here.” He muttered something under his breath. “I’d better call back. It wouldn’t be good if a lone deputy rolled up right now.”

  “No.”

  He took his phone out.

  “Just before I got here, I called a buddy with the DEA.” It was Deperro speaking up. “Told him what I thought was happening.”

  “Did he take you seriously?” Gabe asked.

  “Sounded like it. I wondered if they weren’t already looking that direction.”

  “They likely to show up out here, or raid O.R.E.?”

  “They’d damn well better show up,” he growled.

  Without so much as an acknowledging nod, Gabe said, “Trina, take Chloe upstairs. Tuck her in the bathtub. Ought to provide some protection. Then come down and take up a position behind the sofa. That’ll make you central, and you’ll be able to back any of us up.”

  She didn’t argue. All three men were far more prepared for the ensuing battle than she could ever be.

  Chloe’s small body was stiff in her arms. She hurried upstairs, diverted to her bedroom to grab the comforter and the stuffed unicorn, then carried her into the bathroom. On her knees after settling the little girl in the tub, she stroked the soft red-gold hair. “I know this is scary, sweetie. But we’ll be fine. I’ll leave the door open so you can hear us. Okay?”

  Chloe shivered harder, but her head did bob.

  “Good. You’re such a brave girl.” Trina kissed her, then tore downstairs. The rifle and handgun lay behind the sofa, where Gabe wanted her.

  Deperro knelt at the end of the short hall, where he could see into a room Gabe hadn’t even furnished. A home office? In his fleeting visits, he wouldn’t need anything like that.

  Even in profile, she saw that the detective’
s skin tone was closer to gray than his usual bronze. The towel around his thigh was soaked. Blood dripped onto the polished plank floor.

  “What’s your first name?” she asked in a low voice.

  He gave her a startled look. “Daniel.”

  A barrage of gunfire broke out, seemingly coming from all directions. Trina jerked as glass shattered. She could see only Deperro, who thrust the rifle around the doorframe and fired. Once, twice, again. She desperately wished she could see Gabe, but she heard him swearing as he fired.

  Silence fell, interrupted by a phone ringing.

  It was apparently Boyd’s, because he said a few words she couldn’t make out.

  Then he raised his voice slightly. “Leon’s set up in back.”

  “Anybody injured?” Gabe. “Should have said, any new injuries?”

  The other two men both answered, “No.”

  “Trina?” he said sharply.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. My preference would be to hold them off without killing—not sure what my command structure would think about me taking out a bunch of drug traffickers while I’m rehabbing—but it’s not looking like we’re going to have any choice.”

  “My presence lends some legitimacy.” Deperro’s voice—Daniel’s voice—came out thin.

  Alarmed, Trina saw him close his eyes, wipe a forearm over his face.

  “Let’s trade places,” she said, starting to crawl forward.

  “No.” He waved her back and resolutely squared his shoulders. “I’m good.”

  “You seeing any activity?” Boyd called.

  “Zip.” Gabe, sounding grim.

  Barely seconds later, another burst of sound deafened Trina. Gunfire, and more. Deperro seemed to be yelling. An explosion powerful enough to shake the floor beneath Trina’s knees sent the detective flying backward. He slammed into the wall, his rifle sliding along the floor toward Trina.