by Debbie Burke
“What the fuck?” the boy yelled. “Somebody shot my drone!”
Tawny’s heart jolted in her chest. “Stay down! Don’t move.” She pinned the wiggling boy who kept trying to peer around the tree trunk.
What direction had the shot come from? Rocks made the report bounce crazily. It could be the same rifleman she’d spotted at the supposedly vacant house across the ravine. Were she and Judah the targets? Was it an outraged neighbor who resented being spied on?
Judah bent over and pulled a pocket knife from his high-top sneaker. “Here, I got this.” He opened the blade, three inches long.
Give him credit for guts, Tawny thought. “Didn’t your dad ever tell you—don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. Put that away.” She scanned the terrain while Judah refolded the knife and tucked it back in his shoe. “We have to get to the house.”
The downstairs entrance to the mansion was about half a football field away. The playhouse was a hundred feet away. In between, scattered large trees dotted the grass.
“Judah, listen to me,” she hissed. “We stay under cover of the trees. First, we’ll aim for that line of poplars, then the pines. Keep your head low.”
The boy stared up at her. Behind his silly white glasses, realization dawned in his eyes. She was terrified and he knew it. His mouth firmed and he held out his hand for her to take.
“OK, on three, we run like hell.” She squeezed his pudgy fingers. Oh God, let her keep this little boy safe. “One…two…three!”
Holding hands, they sprinted to the closest poplar and flattened themselves against the trunk.
No shot. No sound. “Go!” she urged. They ran to the pine trees. Safe again. Next the playhouse. Then a last desperate race to the main house.
They burst through the rear door. Judah slammed it and locked it behind them.
Panting from exertion and fear, they stared at each other. “Made it!” he shouted and raised his hand to high-five her.
She slapped his palm. Keep encouraging him. “Damn straight! Set the alarm.”
****
The sharp report of the rifle startled Steve Zepruder and Frank Grand in the third-floor bedroom of the vacant house. Grand had based his weeks of surveillance of the Rosenbaum estate from there.
Steve burst through french doors outside to the balcony, followed by Grand.
Standing at the parapet, Alvin “Crooked Neck” Jimsen lowered his scoped rifle, a slight smile crossing his Neanderthal features. “Got it.”
“What the hell did you do?” Steve shouted.
Crooked Neck’s head thrust forward. His bulky football player body had gone to blubber. “The kid’s drone got too close. Might see us.” He held the rifle at a ready position. He could easily veer it to point at Steve.
From the start, Steve had a bad feeling about the man but Grand insisted he needed the guy’s muscle. Now it was too late. Crooked Neck had blown the element of surprise, goddammit.
Grand sidled cautiously toward the much larger man and gently laid his hands on the rifle. In a low, calm voice, he said, “Give it to me, Alvin.”
Crooked Neck resisted briefly but relinquished the weapon.
Grand backed away, muzzle pointed down. “That was bad, Alvin.”
“Bad?” Steve exploded. “You just jeopardized the whole mission, you fat fool!”
Crooked Neck’s deep-set eyes went flat and his fists curled. He moved toward Steve.
Adrenaline coursed through the lawyer. His reactions were fast but this was one big motherfucker. He had to strike first or it would be all over.
Grand lunged between them. “Easy, Alvin.” One hand pressed against the hulk’s chest, patting gently, like soothing a fretful baby. “It’s gonna be OK. We’re still gonna get the money.” Grand shot a look over his shoulder at Steve. “Right, Mr. Zepruder?”
Anger boiled inside Steve. These stupid thugs would never see a dollar of the ransom, not after this blunder. But he pasted on a smile and nodded. “That’s right, Frank. You boys will be rich. Just follow the plan and don’t screw up again.”
Grand kept patting Crooked Neck’s chest. Tension eased out of the big man.
Steve had to do damage control. His mind raced through mitigation strategies.
****
“Arielle, where are you?” Tawny hurried to the girl’s bedroom and burst through the door.
The girl was propped against the headboard of her bed, sketch pad on her lap. Her face screwed into a frown at Tawny’s sudden entrance. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Are you all right?”
The girl scowled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Judah had caught up and now stood in the doorway of his sister’s messy room, breathless. “Somebody just shot down my drone.”
Arielle made a face. “Yeah, right. You probably just crashed it because you’re so stupid.”
Tawny leaned against the wall, weak with relief. Both children were safe. The alarm was set. She pulled out her cell but before she could tap in 911, it rang. Caller ID read: Zepruder. “Steve, I can’t talk now. I need to call the sheriff.”
“Tawny, are you OK? What’s wrong?”
Dammit, she didn’t have time for this. “Someone just shot down Judah’s drone.”
“Is everyone all right?”
“Yes, but I gotta go, I need to call nine-one-one.”
“Hang on a second. That’s why I’m calling. I’m across the ravine from Tillman’s place and the sheriffs are already here. They just took the gunman into custody. I talked to a deputy I know. She said the guy’s been an ongoing problem in the neighborhood, gets tanked up and shoots at coyotes, claiming they’re rabid. He’s a crazy drunk. But they’ve got him. He’s going to jail. Everything’s OK.”
Tawny frowned. “How do you know it’s the same shooter?”
A slight pause. “A deputy spotted him aiming his rifle toward Tillman’s property and he took the guy down. As they cuffed him, the guy started ranting about eyes in the sky, spying on him.”
Tawny had warned Judah that neighbors might resent the drone but he didn’t listen.
Steve went on: “Tawny, I’m on my way. I’ll fill you in more when I get there. You don’t need to call nine-one-one. Trust me, everything’s OK. The danger is over. You can relax.”
Both kids had been staring at her during the conversation. She disconnected and relayed the explanation Steve had given.
Judah’s round face scrunched with anger. He stomped up the stairs. “Where is he? I’m going over there and talk to that sonofabitch. He’s gotta pay for a new drone.”
Tawny caught up and grabbed his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere. The sheriff’s taking him to jail.”
Judah faced her. Disguised under his double chin, she saw a future hint of Tillman’s jutting jaw. “The dude owes me.”
“Yeah, he does. But we’ll settle that later.” She had to distract the boy. “Now let’s go see if the spaghetti’s ready, OK?”
At the mention of food, Judah’s rage subsided. “OK.”
The three of them were heading for the kitchen when the deep bong of the bell sounded.
“I’ll get it.” Judah moved toward the front door.
“Hold on.” Tawny hurried after the boy.
“What?” he growled, except it came out a squeak.
“Don’t open the door until you know who it is.”
He made a do-you-think-I’m-stupid face and tapped the alarm panel. A video feed turned on, showing Steve Zepruder in his Jaguar at the front entrance. Judah activated the gate opener and shut off the alarm. Then he threw Tawny an annoyed glance before disappearing toward the kitchen.
Two minutes later, Steve appeared at the door, blond brows taut with worry. “Tawny, are you all right?”
The last of Tawny’s adrenaline ebbed out. “Yeah.” As soon as he entered, she locked the door then punched the code to reset.
Steve took her arm and led her to the informal great room. “Sit down and tell me all ab
out what happened. You look whipped.”
She sank into a massive cushy chair and sighed deeply. Steve sat across from her, concern in his blue eyes. “Judah and I were out on the bluff flying the drone that Tillman got him for his bar mitzvah. Heard a shot and the drone crashed. We ran like hell back to the house. Scared the living crap out of me.”
“No wonder.” He jerked his chin toward the yard. “Just lucky I happened to be inspecting one of my real estate listings across the ravine from here. All of a sudden, sheriff cars came roaring up. Apparently several neighbors had called nine-one-one. Soon as I found out what was going on, I called you because I knew you were taking care of the kids and would be worried as hell. But, as I said, it was just this crazy drunk. The deputy said he’s paranoid, he’s sure the government’s spying on him. When he saw Judah’s drone, he must have freaked out. But everything’s safe now. He’s on his way to jail.”
Steve’s words reassured her, even though the softness of the chair didn’t lessen the tension in her muscles. “Thanks for coming over so fast.” She massaged the tight cords in the back of her neck.
Steve leaned closer. “It’s OK, really. You’re safe, the kids are safe. You did great.” He patted her knee. “Is something else wrong?”
Yeah, really wrong. Tawny’s pent-up frustration bubbled over. “I’m not too happy with Tillman. Three days ago, he took off and left me without any emergency contact numbers. I didn’t even know what schools the kids went to, what they needed for lunch, nothing. Arielle would have missed her orthodontist appointment except the office called to remind her. I don’t know how to access the security feed on his computer.” She flipped her hands in exasperation. “I understand he has to be gone with Mimi but I sure could’ve used a dress rehearsal before he took off. And now this.”
The single dimple in Steve’s cheek deepened. “You take your responsibilities seriously, Tawny. That’s a beautiful thing. You’d throw yourself in front of a bullet to keep his children safe. That’s exactly why Tillman left them with you. Don’t worry, you’ll figure out the details. So what if they miss an appointment? Rochelle can reschedule when they get back. Everything will be fine.”
Maybe Steve was right. She’d been fretting too much.
“Besides,” he added, “between motion sensors and cameras, this place is a fortress. Once the alarm is set, a mouse can’t get in without all hell breaking loose. The last time Tillman was over in Kalispell, Rochelle had a problem with one of the sensors and called me. I had the best alarm guy I know go through the whole system, basement to attic. You couldn’t be safer.”
“I guess.” She sighed.
Steve was quiet for a long moment, staring into space. “During a crisis, nobody has time to plan.” Tears glinted. He wiped his eyes. “Our poor little Mimi.”
His concern and sorrow were palpable. He clearly loved his goddaughter.
Tawny should just quit whining and suck it up. She touched his arm. “We’ll get her through this.”
He blinked hard then stood. “OK, I wanted to make sure you were all right. Call me if you need anything. I mean anything. Day or night.”
“I really appreciate that, Steve.” If only Tillman was as accessible as his friendly, sympathetic partner. “Hey, why don’t you stay for dinner? There’s plenty.”
A wide grin spread across his handsome face. “I’d like that. Something sure smells great. My mouth started watering the minute I walked in the door.”
****
When Steve had first arrived shortly after the shooting, Tawny looked panicked, bright splotches of color on her cheeks, mouth tight and drawn. He’d wondered if he could calm her down enough that the mission could go forward. Two hours later, after a delicious meal and lively conversation, the lines of tension relaxed and she was again smiling in her lovely way that felt like sun breaking through clouds. As she gave him a goodbye hug, he felt a twinge of envy.
Rochelle was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known but Tillman’s new lover possessed a girl-next-door sweetness that was appealing. And she was one hell of a cook.
He drove out through the estate gate, confident he’d assuaged her fears with his story of the drunken, paranoid neighbor. Not the best fiction he’d ever woven but not bad for spur-of-the-moment. The secret to believability lay in selecting specific nuggets of truth that provided the underlying foundation on which to construct the larger network of lies.
Like the faulty alarm sensor. Rochelle had, in fact, complained about it to Steve who’d arranged the service call when she was at work and the children were at school. He had, in fact, engaged the best electronics man he knew—Frank Grand.
The truth ended there.
Grand tuned up the system to allow him to disable it remotely. Once bypassed, he could virus the alarm, causing irreparable damage.
Another tool Steve employed were tears, effective in the right context. When he’d summoned them up while talking about Mimi, Tawny bit her lip at his anguish and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
In the long-ago drama class where he first met Rochelle, he’d learned how to cry on demand. That single skill had taken him far in his legal career. Juries ate up tears, along with the slight choke in the voice that sounded as if he were embarrassed and trying to prevent it.
Practicing criminal law was one part knowledge and two parts acting.
Steve had mitigated the damage well enough that the mission could go forward.
Now his only worry was Frank Grand’s trigger-happy, mouth-breathing cohort.
Chapter 13 - Trapped
Judah sprawled on the entertainment room sofa, half-lying, half-sitting, feet propped on the coffee table. A mixed martial arts contest played on the big-screen TV. Tawny sat close enough to trade occasional fist bumps with the boy when a fighter scored a takedown. When the match ended, she yawned, checking the time on her cell. “Getting late, buddy. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
He grimaced. “And here I was just starting to think you were really cool.”
“Just cross me and watch Maleficent come out.” She rose. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
He jumped to his feet, leering. “You got it, babe.”
She cuffed his shoulder. “Let me rephrase that. You are going to bed, all by yourself.”
“Aw, you got no sense of adventure.”
He’s his father’s son, all right, Tawny thought. She snagged the TV clicker from his hand, shut it off, and pushed him toward the stairs.
In the lower bedroom wing, she paused at Arielle’s open door. The room was empty except for the litter of clothes and shoes. Tawny called down the hall to Judah, “Do you know where Arielle is?”
He poked his head out of his bedroom. “She disappeared before you could force her into doing the dishes like you enslaved me.”
“Just teaching you a useful trade so you can make a living.”
He snorted. “Arielle probably snuck down to Dad’s suite again. She’s always hanging around in there, looking at his old photo albums. Getting in his liquor cabinet, too. Dumb.”
Tawny hoped Judah was wrong but feared he might have nailed it. “I’ll go look for her. See you in the morning.”
“Don’t I even get a goodnight kiss?”
Little smart ass. She gave him a backwards wave as she skipped up the stairs. At the front entry, she paused to check the alarm panel.
Strange, the light showed green. She was sure she’d reset it after Steve left. She tapped the code. The light should have turned red but didn’t. She tried again. Still green.
From the top of the stairs, she called down, “Judah, would you come here? I think there’s something wrong with the alarm.”
The boy emerged from his room and clomped up the steps. “What is it?”
Tawny demonstrated, carefully pressing the numbers. “Seven, twenty-one, twelve, right?”
He frowned. “Yeah. Let me try clearing it.” He pressed 9-9-9 then entered the code again. Still nothing. “It’s not working.�
�
Tawny studied the panel. “That red button—is that the panic button?”
“Yeah.” Judah pushed it. Nothing. He kept punching it. “Sirens should be going off.”
“Is there a silent alarm?”
He shook his head.
Something was terribly wrong. “I’m calling the alarm company.” Tawny pulled her cell from her pocket.
An unfamiliar male voice said, “Drop the phone.”
They whirled to see a tall, bulky man dressed in black, a ski mask hiding his face. With gloved hands, he pointed a rifle at them. A thread of green light from the barrel ended in a green dot in the center of Tawny’s chest.
****
The ski mask made Frank Grand’s breath hot on his face. His hands already sweated inside the rubber surgical gloves as he sat at Tillman Rosenbaum’s desktop computer. A keystroke app had allowed him to hack the password. Now, he watched as the virus he’d installed went to work, disabling function after function of the security system—first the connection to the central alarm office, then the exterior security cameras, the motion-activated floodlights, the sensor for the front gate, each step progressively scrambling the mother board.
Once again, he scanned the lawyer’s living room-office and adjoining bedroom. Empty.
Alvin was supposed to take care of the son and Rosenbaum’s girlfriend. Frank needed to find and subdue the brat with the braces. She had to be somewhere in this wing of the mansion.
The eye holes in the ski mask hampered his vision. Dammit, should have worn the tactical balaclava with the larger opening for the eyes but his concern about being recognized overruled that. He rolled the mask up to his forehead to wipe away sweat with his sleeve.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my dad’s house?”
He spun around to find Rosenbaum’s gangly middle child staring at him from behind the built-in bar—the one place he hadn’t checked. Her hair puffed in an Afro around her narrow, homely face, and her eyes looked heavy and glazed, as if she’d just awakened. A bottle of vodka dangled from one hand.
Little lush, Frank thought. “Well, hi, Arielle, how are you?” He moved forward slowly to keep her cornered behind the counter. “Remember me? My name’s John. I work on your dad’s computer. We met at his office one time.” He hoped the girl would believe the lie.
