Within Range

by Janice Kay Johnson

“Because you were attracted to me?”

  She’d swear she saw a smile in his eyes that hadn’t touched his mouth.

  “Because I knew you were going to take off. Because with Jacob you were especially vulnerable. Because you looked too much like a dead woman.” Now the smile reached his lips. “Because I felt a lot more than lust from the beginning.”

  Robin made herself ask. “Are you sorry?”

  “No.” His big hand closed gently over hers. “Never. I’d have been haunted by you for a long time if you’d succeeded in disappearing.”

  “I...wouldn’t have forgotten you, either.” She looked away for a moment. “I knew you’d be hurt when you found we were gone,” she admitted.

  “You were right,” he said quietly, eyes intent on her face. “I would have been.”

  She would always feel guilt about Andrea, but she knew how lucky she and Jacob were that Seth had been the detective in charge of the investigation. He seemed willing to take any risk for them. Robin thought he’d risk a whole lot for any vulnerable woman or child. But...if his dad was right, he’d never brought one home before.

  It still boggled her mind that she was able to trust him so absolutely. She could probably thank her father for that. Even at the worst with Richard, she hadn’t forgotten that steady, kind men did exist.

  “Do you think Richard has given up? That...he’s hoping you’ll decide it wasn’t him who broke in here and shot your dad?”

  His face hardened. “No.” He hesitated as if not sure he wanted to say this, but chose to go on. “I think he’s setting us up.”

  “I can’t imagine he’d be satisfied by killing me secondhand,” she argued again. And yet... She tried to get into her ex-husband’s head. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I can also picture how smug he’d feel if the police came to talk to him. He could be laughing inside.” She formed an expression of dismay and concern. “‘Detective, I was dining with the mayor last night. A dozen people can vouch that I was there. I don’t understand what you think I can tell you.’”

  “He’d be home free, except for one little problem.”

  “The man he’d paid to do his dirty work.”

  Sounding grim, Seth said, “But Brad McCormick’s disappearance suggests your ex-husband knows how to solve that kind of problem.”

  Robin couldn’t believe she was having this kind of conversation about her own, hypothetical murder. Seth didn’t seem to be taking it in stride, either, thank goodness; he looked more disturbed than she felt.

  “The thing is,” she said slowly, “I still think he’d get a big charge out of killing me himself. I could never tell if he actually enjoyed hurting me, but...”

  Seth’s big body jerked.

  She swallowed and finished, “There’d be something in his attitude afterward.”

  His face set with cold determination. “Let me just say that if I’m going to have a shoot-out with anyone, I’d just as soon it was him.”

  A miniflashback rattled her. “One shoot-out was enough, thank you. If only we could prove he was here and you could get a warrant for his guns.”

  “We’ve flashed photos at rental-car companies. Cops in half a dozen jurisdictions have helped. We’ve even tried ones in Vancouver.” The city was across the Columbia River from Portland, which put it in Washington State. “Unfortunately, given that he owns a small plane, your ex can land at a private field anywhere. Now, after all his effort to assure us he’s an extremely busy man who couldn’t possibly get away, he’ll have a plan to make the round-trip as fast as possible.”

  “Lovely thought.” She was hugging herself again.

  Seth noticed, too. He lifted his arm, and she all but dived into his embrace.

  “Damn, I wish I could sleep with you tonight.”

  Robin thought that this time he wasn’t even thinking about sex. She pressed a kiss to his throat. “Me, too,” she whispered.

  * * *

  NOT LONG AFTER breakfast the next morning, Robin turned to Seth. “Can you do a grocery run? We really need some basics.”

  He frowned but gave a grudging nod. He obviously didn’t want to leave, but the couple of local grocery stores didn’t deliver. “Make a list and I’ll go.”

  “I already have a list. Just give me a minute to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  Two minutes later, he was gone after a few quiet words with his father.

  Michael had a holster on his belt now to carry his gun. Most of the time, Seth wore a long-sleeve shirt with the tails loose to hide his service pistol. Michael wasn’t bothering. Robin knew that by now she ought to be used to seeing men openly carrying lethal weapons even to the bathroom or to get a snack out of the refrigerator, but she hadn’t totally adjusted. Every time Richard had opened his huge gun safe and insisted she admire his collection, she’d felt queasy. There was a reason why she’d closed her eyes when he made her try target shooting.

  And yet here she was now, being guarded by armed men. And glad of them, if a little unsettled.

  Michael currently sat at the kitchen table, the newspaper open in front of him. He appeared to be glaring at the new exterior door.

  “Damn kid thinks he can tell his old man what to do,” he growled.

  “He’s scared for us,” Robin reminded him.

  “Mommy?” Jacob had been sitting on the floor playing with his simple wood puzzles, but now he got up and tugged at her pant leg. “Potty.”

  “Then let’s go.” Since his kiddy seat was upstairs, she bent to pick him up.

  A dark shadow slid across one of the kitchen windows covered by a sheer roller shade.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Seth’s foot kept easing from the accelerator. Apprehension rode him. He shouldn’t have left the house. Left Robin, Jacob and his dad.

  If he hustled, he could get to town, do the shopping and be back in not much over half an hour. That wasn’t very long to be away. They had to eat.

  He watched his rearview mirror, checked his phone. If anything went wrong, Dad or Robin would call.

  He was lucky this road was so little traveled. If it carried much traffic at all, cars would be piling up behind him.

  When his phone rang, Seth pulled to the shoulder. Sergeant Hammond, he saw as he answered.

  “We’ve lost him,” Hammond said without preamble. “Winstead is scheduled to be a speaker at a Rotary Club dinner tonight, but that gives him plenty of time to get down there and back. I just called Boeing Field. He didn’t file a flight plan—rarely does, according to the woman I spoke to—but he did fly out several hours ago.”

  “He could already be here.” And I just left my family unprotected.

  “Where are you?” the sergeant asked.

  “Not where I should be,” Seth said, panic making it hard to get the words out. He ended the call, dropped his phone on the seat and wrenched the steering wheel to make a U-turn. Then he slammed his foot down on the accelerator.

  * * *

  ROBIN FROZE, HANDS outstretched but not yet touching Jacob. Could she have imagined what she thought she saw?

  No.

  Mouth dry, she whispered, “Michael.”

  He swiveled toward her, going to alert just from what he’d heard in her voice.

  “Someone’s outside.”

  He rose soundlessly, pulled his gun and held it in a two-handed grip with the barrel pointing down. He reached her in a couple of strides. “You two upstairs.”

  She picked up her son and made sure he was looking at her when she touched her finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  He let out a kind of squeak and burrowed into her.

  “Come with us,” she whispered.

  Michael nodded.

  Robin placed each foot as carefully as she could. The hall felt like a refuge until she saw the raw holes in the wallboard they
hadn’t yet repaired.

  She looked back to see Michael with his back to her, his gaze sweeping the house. She crept up the stairs rather than racing the way she wanted to. Get Jacob in the bathtub. Call Seth and then 9-1-1.

  Or the other way around?

  He might not have gotten all the way to town. Robin’s thoughts had fragmented, leaving her with no idea how long it had been since he left.

  She was shaking by the time she bent over to lay Jacob down in the cast-iron tub.

  “No!” he cried. “Don’t go, Mommy! Stay!”

  She clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shh, shh, shh.”

  His teeth chattered under her palm. Freckles stood out on his face like dots made by a permanent marker. The terrible fear in his eyes undid her.

  Hearing the squeak of a floorboard, she spun, almost falling over. It was Michael, right outside the bathroom.

  “Got your phone?” he asked quietly.

  Her head bobbed as she slid it from her pocket. “I’ll call. But...what if there’s nobody here?”

  “Better safe.”

  Than sorry. Of course he was right.

  Seth answered after one ring, his voice tense. “Robin?”

  “We think... I think I saw someone right outside. We...we’re upstairs.”

  “Dad with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on my way back. I’ll be there in about two minutes.”

  From town?

  “Hammond called. Winstead took off in his plane hours ago.”

  Oh.

  Glass shattered downstairs. Jacob let out a cry and Robin jumped.

  “He just broke a window.”

  “Lock yourself in the bathroom again,” Seth demanded.

  “But I can’t leave your dad—”

  “Do it.” That implacable note in his voice demanded obedience. “I’m almost there.”

  She knew the call had been dropped, but said, “Seth?” anyway.

  Silence.

  * * *

  SETH GOT ON the radio to demand backup. He’d have asked for SWAT except the team wouldn’t make it out here in time to do any good. If he was lucky, another unit might be nearby.

  That piece of scum had already been on the property watching the house, waiting until the inhabitants gave him an opening. This time, by God, he wouldn’t be driving away so he could take the podium in front of a bunch of businessmen to impress them with his ideas, passion for the underdogs, sharp sense of humor and make it seem impossible he was a predator with blood on his hands.

  Seth’s truck crested the hill on the two-lane country road at an unsafe speed, but he didn’t so much as tap the brakes.

  * * *

  “CLOSE THE DOOR,” Michael snapped. Bending slowly as if his joints hurt, he lowered himself to the floor. As Robin watched, he stretched out on his belly in the hall. That put him in a good position to see anyone coming up those stairs before they saw him. Only then he groaned and his face twisted as he tried to stretch his arms out in front of him with the gun pointed straight ahead.

  Robin’s stomach cramped painfully. He’d been wounded in his right shoulder. She’d known his mobility was hampered. Could he squeeze the trigger?

  She crawled out. “Let me—”

  He shot her an angry glance. “Get back in there. I can do this.”

  “Do you have another gun?” she whispered.

  He stared fixedly at the empty space above the staircase. “Gun safe in my closet. There’s a backup.” He reeled off a combination.

  She looked back at the bathtub, unable to see Jacob without standing all the way up. This was how it would feel to be ripped in half. Go. Stay.

  No. She couldn’t crouch helpless in the bathroom while a wounded man in his sixties died to defend her.

  Still bent over, she ran for the master bedroom.

  A sudden, furious barrage of gunfire deafened her. Crying out, she dropped to the carpeted floor. That sounded like half a dozen guns. Richard hadn’t come alone this time.

  In the sudden silence, she crawled the rest of the way into the closet, twirled the dial with a shaking hand and took out the pistol she recognized right away as a revolver.

  She pushed herself to her feet and hurried to the doorway, setting her back to the door as she’d seen actors do in action shows on TV, edging over to see the hall.

  Michael hadn’t moved. The wallboard and ceiling above him were shredded, but from the back he appeared unhurt and alert. With a moan, Robin got down and crawled fast toward him and her terrified son.

  * * *

  HALF A MILE. Quarter of a mile. Seth’s truck rocked and swerved as he made the turn into the driveway. He swore at the sudden realization that he wasn’t wearing his vest.

  God, had Dad been wearing the one Seth had borrowed for him?

  That’s when he heard a volley of gunfire. So many shots, it was like approaching an outdoor gun range.

  He wouldn’t accept that he was too late.

  Sunlight glinted off windows that appeared unbroken across the front of the house. Hoping to draw the gunman or gunmen out of the house, he skidded to a stop in his usual parking place. At a fleeting glance, he saw neither movement nor any damage here, either.

  Even as he shut down the engine, Seth bent over to get out, intent on shielding behind the door he’d just opened. He hadn’t quite made it when the windows in the truck exploded simultaneously and he fell the rest of the way to the packed gravel.

  Teeth clenched, he scrambled behind the rear bumper, forcing himself to regroup. It had been a while since he’d heard or seen what a semiautomatic assault rifle could do.

  Crouching behind the truck, he lifted the hatch and grabbed his Kevlar vest.

  In the act of reaching for a tab on the vest, he saw something that made him pause. Dark splotches on the gravel. Oh, hell. Blood soaked his shirtsleeve and dripped from his hand. One of those bullets had found him, and he hadn’t even felt it. Still didn’t feel it. He wiped blood off his hand on his jeans and finished closing the Velcro.

  Judging from the earlier blast, Winstead had shot his way into the house. Did he already have Jacob? Seth shook his head. The only possible way that bastard could have gotten his hands on the boy they all loved was by killing the two adults in the house. They’d made it upstairs, he knew that. He wouldn’t believe they were dead.

  He knew from experience that the pain would hit suddenly. He hoped it held off and didn’t blindside him. His Glock held in firing position, he crept along the passenger side of his truck, careful not to give away his position with a crunch of gravel. Being up against an assault rifle didn’t intimidate him. He needed only one shot—the right shot.

  * * *

  ROBIN HAD REACHED Michael and the bathroom door when a second explosion of gunfire began. She dropped to the floor again, and saw Michael try to pancake himself. Since shreds of wallboard didn’t fly, she worked out that the shots weren’t here in the house.

  “Damn it,” Michael ground out. “I’ll bet Seth just got here.”

  Suddenly sick, she felt sure Seth had driven up openly in an attempt to draw Richard’s attention. If he’d died in the hail of bullets—

  Robin wiped a wet cheek. “It sounds like Richard brought an army. Why would he do that?”

  Michael took his gaze off the head of the stairs for a fleeting instant. “I don’t think he did. Sounds like an assault rifle to me.”

  Feeling even sicker, Robin could only think, Of course. After reading about school shootings where teenagers had gotten their hands on an AR-15 or the like, Robin had been horrified when she first saw the two Richard owned. She asked why he had them and he’d said, Because I can. Imagine what the members of the Seattle city council would think if they knew he owned guns at all, far less the most lethal of them. That was Richard in a nutshell: the fa
cade of being a compassionate man, an activist, that he wore like the too-thin crust of cooling lava over the deadly red-hot flow beneath.

  “What can we do?” she whispered.

  Michael shook his head. “Nothing.”

  So she crouched in the doorway to the bathroom, sweaty hands gripping the gun. And waited.

  * * *

  SETH FLATTENED HIMSELF on the ground beside the front fender of the truck. He’d see legs and feet if that piece of scum appeared around the corner of the house. Winstead might be a crack shot, but he hadn’t served in the military or had police training and experience. From the way Seth had barreled up to the house, Winstead must know other cops would be on the way. His window of opportunity was closing. He’d want to be sure Seth was dead before he resumed the attack indoors. Even if he was capable of patience, he couldn’t afford it.

  Unless he assumed Seth was down.

  Or unless he really did already have Jacob and was even now fleeing through the woods to wherever he’d left his car. That ugly possibility and the complete silence felt like an itch Seth couldn’t scratch.

  His gut said he was doing the right thing. But a single glance told him he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

  Another burst of gunfire came from inside the house. Seth jumped to his feet and ran.

  * * *

  MICHAEL ROLLED, GROANING. Blood. New blood.

  “If you want the kid to survive,” Richard called up the stairs, arrogance in his voice, “you won’t shoot. You’ll let me come up and take my son. Too late for yours. He’s dead, and you’re outgunned.”

  No!

  In horror, Robin saw that during the fusillade, Michael had dropped his pistol. He fumbled to pick it up, but he couldn’t seem to close his fingers. In desperation, he reached for it with his left hand.

  The devastation of knowing that Seth was dead felt like hearing the bone-rattling crack of thunder right above her when she was utterly exposed in the open, waiting for the lightning bolt. What Richard couldn’t know was that her unacknowledged grief served as fuel to make her hate burn even hotter.