The Call of Bravery

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I mostly stayed with other kids. Runaways. You know.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “And…the other girls said there was an easy way to make money.”

  A horrified sound escaped her father.

  “And I thought, well, I’ve done it before so what difference does it make?” Sorrel sounded defiant and painfully young. She was trembling. “So I had sex with men for money.”

  “Oh, no.” Her mother was crying again. “Oh, honey. Have you been tested? What if you’d gotten pregnant?”

  “I’m not.”

  “She was tested,” Jennifer murmured.

  “There were only, like, five or six. And mostly when I said they had to use condoms, they did.”

  All the adults heard the mostly. What kind of monster would not only have sex with a young girl who only wanted enough money to buy something to eat, but would refuse to use a condom?

  Uncle Raymond, Lia thought grimly, probably hadn’t used one either.

  “It was really awful,” Sorrel said in that same scratchy voice, “but it wasn’t as bad as doing it with him.”

  Her father said, almost calmly, “I would like to kill them all. And I will never forgive myself for letting this happen to you.”

  Sorrel shrugged and looked down at her hands, knotted together in her lap.

  “We love you,” her mother said. “I know right now you don’t believe that, but it’s true. We love you so much.”

  After a very long wait, Sorrel mumbled, “I love you, too.”

  Her mother gasped and pressed her face into her husband’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and cried.

  Lia held Sorrel, who continued to sit stiffly with her head bowed. Finally Jennifer stood.

  “I think we’ve made a real start tonight. But I’m going to suggest that Sorrel go home with Lia and we set up another meeting soon. Perhaps Thursday?”

  Lia nodded. After a minute Sorrel’s father did, too.

  “Healing takes time,” Jennifer said softly.

  The minute Lia stood, Sorrel did, too. They left her parents and the counselor, walking silently out to the car.

  Lia handed her more tissues, and let her cry all the way home.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LIA DID NOT leave her door open when she went to bed, no matter how much a part of her wanted to. It took her ages to fall asleep; her mind jumped from the scene between Sorrel and her parents to Lia’s own decision regarding Conall and back again. Counting sheep didn’t seem to be an option.

  But apparently she did eventually sleep, because she woke up with a start. It was a second before she realized someone was yelling her name.

  “Lia.” It was a roar out in the hall. Conall flung open her door and light flooded in. “Where are the boys?”

  “What?” She sat up, her covers falling away as fear rushed over her. “They’re in bed.” She blinked away the confusion of sleep. “Oh, my God, aren’t they in bed?”

  “No.” His face was tense, unfamiliar. It occurred to her suddenly that he was afraid, which ratcheted up her own panic.

  She swung her feet to the floor. “Why did you check on them?”

  “I saw someone sneaking across the pasture to the neighbor’s. He was using cover well. I had a hard time getting a good look. Then the dogs went ballistic and two of the men came out of the house and grabbed the kid.” The muscle in his jaw twitched. “It was a kid, Lia. I think it was Bren.”

  She raced past him to the door of the boys’ bedroom, which already stood open. Their covers were rumpled, the bunk beds undeniably empty. The fear swelled like hydrogen in a balloon. “Why would he do something like that?” She didn’t recognize her own voice. “If that was Bren…where’s Walker?”

  “I don’t know.” He swore. “Get dressed. I’m going out.” He was lifting his cell phone as he turned away, punching in numbers. As she hurried to her bedroom, she heard him say, “Duncan? I’ve got a situation.”

  She’d never gotten dressed so fast in her life. She crammed her bare feet in athletic shoes, laced them and tore down the stairs. She reached the front door in time to see Conall running toward the horse pasture. A small dark shape was rolling beneath the lowest rail, crawling then scrambling to its—his—feet.

  “Conall!” Walker sobbed. “Those men took Brendan. You’ve gotta save him. You’ve gotta!”

  * * *

  CONALL SWUNG THE BOY into his arms. Walker wound arms and legs around him, clutching desperately. He was astonishingly light. Conall felt a lurch inside at the realization of how little there was to this boy. Brendan, he thought with horror, while probably six inches taller was every bit as skinny.

  As urgent as the need for answers was, Conall let Walker sob out his fear.

  “We’ll get him back,” he murmured. “I promise. Shh. Calm down. It’ll be all right.” He hoped desperately that he wasn’t lying.

  Lia had reached him, her breath hitching. “Walker. Oh, honey.”

  Past her, Conall saw that Sorrel had come out onto the porch in her baby doll pajamas and stood stiffly, hugging herself.

  “Okay.” Conall started walking to the porch. He said with authority, “Tell me what happened.”

  “Bren wanted to…to—”

  Conall took the half dozen steps and sat on the top one, Walker still holding on for all he was worth. It took a huge effort to keep his voice calm. “Wanted to what?”

  “He wanted to do something to help you.” Face swollen and wet, glasses crooked, the kid stole a look up at Conall. “He wanted to be brave like you.”

  Conall felt sick. This was the payback he deserved for being stupid enough to talk to the kids about his work. He’d thought he was doing something good, opening himself to them, giving them something to think about besides the death of their mother and their uncertain future. Instead, he’d apparently encouraged Brendan to try to be heroic.

  A ten-year-old kid up against a trio of paranoid, crazy bastards with everything to lose.

  Lia had sat so close she pressed against him. He guessed she wanted to snatch Walker away, keep him, at least, safe. But she made no move to do so.

  “What did he think he could do?” Conall asked gently.

  Walker was breathing like an asthmatic having an attack, his whole body shaking. “He took a couple of those bug things. You know, the ones you said would let you hear what they talked about.”

  Oh, shit.

  “He put some in his pocket that day I showed you our equipment.”

  Walker’s head bobbed.

  “They won’t work,” Conall said hoarsely. “The ones I showed you weren’t live.”

  “You mean— You mean you still won’t be able to hear anything?”

  He’d come close to dying half a dozen times or more, and he’d never felt this kind of fear before. “No,” he said. “No, we still won’t be able to hear.”

  Walker’s teeth chattered.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Lia reached out then, and Conall let her take the boy. Her terrified eyes met his over Walker’s head. “What if the men see what he’s got?”

  Brendan was dead, that’s what.

  Their best hope was that Brendan had kept his head and lied for all he was worth. Kids did stupid things. They sneaked out at night. God help him if the neighbors found the sophisticated electronic bugs in the boy’s pocket.

  Conall glanced over his shoulder and saw that Sorrel was crying now.

  “All right,” he said, pretending he was calm and in control, “here’s what we’re going to do. Lia, you’ll take the kids in the house.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened to argue.

  He shook his head. “Duncan is on his way with a couple of his people. They’ll be parking out at the main road
and coming in on foot.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m going over there and knocking on the front door. Walker got scared and told me he’d dared Brendan to sneak over to the house and back without the dogs noticing. But he didn’t come back, and Walker heard the dogs bark, so he woke me up. I’m there because I’m afraid one of the dogs has attacked Brendan. I’m scared. I’m begging for them to call their dogs in and help me find my kid.”

  “Your kid?” she said so quietly he had to read her lips.

  His throat closed. He was a moment before he could say, “My kid.”

  “Are you waiting for Duncan?” Lia asked.

  Conall didn’t want to wait for anything. His body was primed to move. Every second that passed felt like an aeon. But he had to have more backup than Jeff in case things got really ugly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is Jeff?”

  “If he sees anything, he’ll call me.” He patted the cell phone hooked on his waistband. Jeff could use the night-vision scope and keep an eye from above.

  He saw Lia’s shudder and hoped Walker hadn’t felt it. She stood then and said, “Okay, kids, you heard Conall. Into the house.” Her voice was admirably steady.

  The wait felt interminable, but was no more than another five minutes.

  Conall wasn’t surprised that Niall had come with Duncan along with the same detective who’d been here before. They decided that once Conall started up the Suburban, Duncan would use the cover of engine noise to get his SUV and bring it in close. Conall would make the first approach.

  As they conferred on the porch, Conall was aware of Lia standing just inside the screen door, listening. Her fingers were pressed to her lips as if that was the only way she could contain a sob or a scream or a plea. He looked directly at her once, nodded meaninglessly and went.

  He drove the way a frantic father might, skidding as he made the turn from dirt onto gravel, gunning the engine and sliding to a halt with his bumper inches from the neighbor’s garage door.

  He took the steps to the front door two at a time, jammed the heel of his hand on the doorbell and held it, listening to the peal inside repeating itself shrilly. It had to be a minute before the door swung open.

  “Who the hell—” Cufley said. He wore rumpled khaki pants, and an unbuttoned plaid shirt. The kind of thing a man might yank on when the doorbell rang in the middle of the night. One hand gripped the door, while his other arm stayed stiffly at his side, that hand hidden by the angle of his body.

  Conall’s adrenaline surged, but he didn’t let his awareness that this creep had a weapon in hand affect his own performance. He knew his hair was disheveled and he looked distraught.

  Maybe because he was.

  “Listen, buddy, I’m sorry if I woke you up, but didn’t you hear your dogs barking? One of our kids sneaked onto your property.” He ran a hand over his face. “His little brother woke me up. He’d dared Brendan to sneak over here, touch the house and make it back without alerting the dogs. God!” Frantic slid seamlessly into threat. “If they’ve hurt that kid— Those aren’t attack dogs, are they?”

  “They are trained to be guard dogs, but I imagine if you go home, you’ll find your kid.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought that lady ran some kind of foster home.”

  “She does. We’re getting married and adopting the boys. Their mother died—” He broke off. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to find him. Can you call the dogs in?”

  “The kid’s not here,” Cufley insisted, trying to sound irritated but not a good enough actor to disguise his nervousness. “I heard the dogs, that’s why I’m dressed. I went out and nobody was there. If you go home, you’ll probably find the boy already there.”

  “He’s not there,” Conall said stubbornly. “You’re lying.”

  The guy’s face flushed. “What is your problem, buddy? I’m going to call the cops if you don’t—”

  “Yeah, why don’t we do that?” Conall said softly. The guy started closing the door and Conall shot his foot into the opening. He said loudly, “I’m going in,” and grabbed his Glock even as he slammed his shoulder against the door and crashed into Cufley. He had the barrel pressed to Cufley’s chest before he could get his own gun up.

  “Brendan!” Conall yelled. “Where are you?”

  He thought he heard a muffled sound coming from downstairs in the split-level house but wasn’t positive. Duncan’s SUV was sliding to a stop behind his and the three men leaped out, weapons in hand. Conall gestured for one to go each way around the house, while Niall joined him.

  Cufley fought and yelled while Niall wrestled him to the ground and cuffed him. Conall pushed Cufley’s gun into his own waistband, then nodded for Niall to go up while he went down.

  Niall advanced silently up the stairs. Nothing happened. After watching him ghost out of sight, Conall flattened against the wall and exposed a few inches of himself in the stairwell. Gunfire exploded and he jumped back. The sidelight beside the front door smashed outward. Cufley curled into a tight ball.

  Niall bounded down the stairs. “Son of a bitch.”

  “There’re two more of them in the house,” Conall said softly. “Shit. I can’t return fire with Bren down there.”

  His brother lifted the radio he carried. After conferring briefly he said, “Sean’s got one of the garage doors open. He’s going in.” Pause. “He’s going for the interior door. Duncan’s ready to go through a window.”

  “Can he see anything?”

  “Quick glimpse, didn’t get a good look.”

  Conall swore. Then he raised his voice. “This is the police. The house is surrounded. We know you have the kid down there. You’ve already shot at a police officer. We can end this without anyone getting hurt and without you being in any more trouble than you already are. Let the kid go. Put your weapons down and come out.”

  If they were garden-variety criminals they would have done it. But they weren’t. They were crazies, ready in their own damn minds to be martyrs to their beliefs.

  He crouched and prodded Cufley with his gun. “Tell them. Order them to let the boy go.”

  Cufley wanted to be defiant but he must have seen something on Conall’s face, because he shrank away. “You won’t shoot me.”

  “See, here’s the thing,” Conall murmured. “I love that boy. I’d do anything for him. Shooting off your foot might be a good start.” He slid the barrel of the Glock down the scrawny body and then shoved it hard against the bottom of Cufley’s bare foot. “Tell them,” he snapped.

  Eyes fixed in horror on his own foot and the gun held in a rock steady hand, the guy called in a voice that quavered, “Let him go.”

  “Louder.”

  “Let the kid go,” he yelled.

  “Bullshit!” someone downstairs snarled. “I’m going to kill this kid if the cops don’t leave the house. Now.”

  Conall swiveled on his heels. “You’re not getting out of this.”

  “We’ve got enough firepower to take you all out.”

  “I told you the house is surrounded. What are you going to do, start World War Three? You’ll still die.”

  “So will the kid.”

  The radio crackled. “Keep him talking,” Niall murmured.

  Goddamn it. Conall wanted to see Brendan, know he was alive and unhurt. He had no patience; this terrible urgency gripped him.

  My kid.

  This was how he’d feel if Brendan was his.

  “Use your head,” he called down the stairwell. “You haven’t done anything that bad yet. If you hurt a ten-year-old boy, you’ll get the death penalty even if you survive tonight. I’ll see to it.”

  A salvo of gunfire was his answer. Bits of wallboard and slivers of the studs beneath flew. Niall and Conall both hit the floor. Downstairs there was yelling. Gla
ss shattered. Guns barked and Conall took a chance, rolling toward the head of the stairs.

  The guy at the bottom was half turned away from him. Conall yelled, “Drop it!” When he didn’t, when he spun back already firing, Conall squeezed the trigger and saw the red bloom in the middle of the bastard’s chest. He squeezed again, and again.

  Duncan yelled, “I’ve got Brendan.”

  Relief exploding inside him, Conall bounded down the stairs, his Glock held at the ready. He flattened against the wall then spun through the first doorway, his gaze sweeping the room.

  A man was down. Sean knelt beside him, holstering his gun even as he was pulling handcuffs from the pocket of his windbreaker.

  Duncan was talking to Brendan, who was crying in gulps that shook his whole body. His eyes found Conall and the next second they were both moving until the small body slammed into Conall’s.

  “You came! You came!”

  “Of course I came.” Conall bent to wrap the boy in his arms and hold him close. “Oh, damn, Bren. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. God, I was so scared.”

  Still shaking hard enough to rattle small bones loose, Brendan pulled back enough to look incredulously at Conall’s face. “You were scared?”

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he said truthfully. Hell, his hands were shaking. “When I realized that had to be you creeping across the pasture—” He had to stop.

  “You saw me?”

  “Yeah.” Conall let out a ragged breath. “Let me call Lia. She needs to know you’re okay.”

  The boy swiped an arm across his wet face. “Is everyone awake?” His voice was incredibly small.

  Conall actually laughed, although there wasn’t a lot of amusement in it. “You think anyone slept through discovering you or Walker weren’t in your beds? The damn dogs over here howling—” He held Brendan at arm’s length, inspecting him. “Did you get bitten?”

  “Uh-uh. One of them knocked me down and I curled up and wrapped my arms over my head and then one of the men yelled at the dogs and they came out and…and they grabbed me and brought me in.” He finally petered out. “And then they wanted to know what I was doing here.” Fresh tears fell. “I couldn’t think of a good lie,” he wailed.