Devil's Way Out

by Nika Dixon

  Emma.

  He was in love with her. She was a city girl with the kind of story that was so crazy he shouldn’t ever believe it. Yet here he stood. Boots firmly planted on his family land, holding a woman who fit so perfectly in his arms, as though she’d been delivered by the Creator to stand with him in this exact spot, at this exact moment in time.

  He shoved the walls back up around his heart. With Emma, there would be no holding back. She would take all of him. Every last piece. Loving her and losing her would break him completely.

  And he would lose her. Of that he had no doubt. One way or another, Danny would make sure that Alexander was dealt with. When that happened, Emma would have her freedom. She would take it and go, and he would be right back where he was.

  Alone.

  He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it.

  Not again.

  But even as he convinced himself they had no future, he lowered his head and kissed her.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The sound of an approaching vehicle gave Marshall the opening to escape his attempt at killing his distracting thoughts about Emma with busywork. Catching sight of Danny’s truck, he set aside the hammer and grabbed his shirt.

  “Long night?” Marshall asked, noting his brother’s rumpled uniform.

  “Pretty much.” Danny scratched the stubble on the side of his jaw. “But that’s what coffee’s for. How’s Emma?”

  “Sleeping. Scared as hell and trying not to show it. What’s the story on Styles?”

  “Bailey found his car half submerged in Seven Mile Creek, so he’s switched rides, but we have no idea to what. Pollard called all hands on deck, so Pikes Falls PD is running full throttle. Sam, Bailey, and I spent the night checking every watering hole, tavern, and sleeping spot from here to Kitteridge, but there’s no sign of the bald-headed bastard anywhere. All in all, we have a big-ass pile of nothing.”

  “You think he’s here alone?”

  Danny grimaced. “I sure as hell hope so, but Romero hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

  Marshall stared at the ranch house, his attention locked on the second-floor window of Emma’s room. “What’s the plan?”

  Danny pulled his hat off his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “The plan is to get Emma to tell us everything she knows, and pronto.”

  “How is that going to help?”

  “If we can get her to tell Sam everything she can about Alexander and his goon squad, it might help us figure out their next move. But we need everything she’s got. Names. Dates. Descriptions. Hell, if she can throw a few drawings into the mix, even better.”

  Hope eased Marshall’s worry, but it crept right back to the red line when he sensed that Danny’s plans didn’t include him. “Why Sam?”

  “Because I need to run back out to Kitteridge and follow up on the barn fire, then head back to Pikes Falls, and you’re coming with me.”

  “The hell I am!”

  “The hell you are. Damn it, Marsh. We don’t need you distracting her. I’m already walking a thin line here. I need to do as much of this by the book as I can. Sam’s not going to let anything happen to her. And if anyone knows how to talk to a woman who has been through what she has, he does.”

  Marshall hated that his brother was right. Sam knew exactly what it was like to be trapped in a house with an abusive asshole. If anyone could connect with Emma’s plight and show her that there was life on the outside, it would be Sam.

  “I’m not a distraction,” Marshall muttered.

  Danny patted him on the shoulder. “You just keep telling yourself that, big brother.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Sam Mickelson was a bear of a man.

  Emma liked him immensely.

  He was even bigger than Victor, something she thought she would never see. Where Victor’s size was primarily due to a love of food, Sam’s bulk was all muscle. Yet, for such a big guy, he oozed a calming energy she’d swear he was projecting just for her. She also appreciated his choice of wardrobe. Though he refused to accept her thanks for it, she knew he’d chosen jeans and T-shirt over a uniform for her peace of mind.

  He wasn’t Marshall, but she would take him as a very close second choice.

  She wasn’t even panicked at being locked inside the sheriff’s station. If anything, the quiet of the empty building was helping her concentrate. With the open space of the office area and the big windows along the front, she didn’t feel trapped at all.

  Having the giant fur ball of a dog sleeping on her feet didn’t hurt, either, even though her toes were melting.

  She separated her latest sketch from the book and slid the drawing across the table.

  Sam set it on top of the growing stack of sketches in front of him. He eyeballed the image of a man with greasy and unkempt dark hair. “Right. Who’s this mop head?”

  “David Hopps—with two p’s. He’s a scammer. Scam artist? He’s worked for Alan for years.”

  Sam entered the name into his laptop and showed her a mug shot for comparison.

  “That’s him,” she confirmed.

  “Bribery, fraud, extortion, identity theft, money laundering, forgery.”

  “Stealing credit cards is his favorite thing. He never stops talking about all the stuff he buys with other people’s money. He has someone named Sticky who helps him make the fake cards.”

  “Sticky?” Sam snorted, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’ve never seen him, so I can’t draw him. Sorry.”

  “It’s all good. There can’t be that many guys running around calling themselves Sticky.”

  As she listed off everything she could remember about either man, a niggling itch started to bother her. Ignoring it, she concentrated on providing as much detail about the man as she could, but as she ran out of things to say, the persistence of the itch turned into a dull throbbing.

  By the time Sam was ready for her to move on, her fingers were starting to burn. Nervous over what images might be coming forward, she rubbed her hands across her thighs. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then twisted around to face the front windows. She followed his glance, surprised at how low the sun was.

  “Well, damn. Some host I make. Sorry, Emma,” he smiled wryly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had such a beautiful lady to distract me.”

  The flush climbing her cheeks began to match the heat in her hands.

  He closed up his laptop. “How about we head over to Maggie’s and grab some supper?”

  She soothed her burning palms against cool surface of the desk. The relief only lasted a second. “Could we eat here? I could start the next one.”

  The food would take a few minutes to cook. If she could get him to go fetch it, maybe she would have enough time to get the drawings done before he came back so she could decide what to do with them before she shared them with anyone.

  He pushed his chair back. “Sure. Tonight’s special should be roast beef and gravy.”

  “If Maggie’s cooking, I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  “You did a good job today, Emma. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

  Luckily, he turned his back before she could stammer out her thanks of surprise at his kind words. After a lifetime of men like Alan and Victor, she had no idea how to handle the support and strength surrounding her now.

  She scoured her palm with the pad of her thumb. She had no time to try and analyze the how and why of the people of Absolution. The picture was coming. Fast.

  “You comin’ or stayin’?” Sam asked Drift.

  The dog didn’t move from his spot beneath her chair, but he did wag his tail.

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, pretty lady always wins, huh, buddy? Okay, you two stay put. I’ll be right back with the grub.”

  Before the door fully closed behind him, she had the tip of her pencil on the page.

  The image came out of her in sharp scratches.

  Moments later, as the world
around her came back into focus, she stared in horror at what she’d created. The pencil lead snapped from the pressure of her shock, tearing a small hole in the corner of the page.

  It was the front porch of the Boyer house.

  Standing at the top was Lucy, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

  By her side, with his hand on her shoulder, was Alan.

  Praying this would be the one time in her life her pictures were wrong, she ripped the page from the sketchbook and shoved her chair back.

  Drift flew to attention and spun in a circle with a bark.

  She was halfway to the door when it popped open, and Sam stepped in. “All right, two orders of—what’s wrong?”

  She ran straight at him. “Do you know how to call Lucy?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Call her,” she begged, crumpling the drawing as she thrust it at his chest. “Please, you need to call her!”

  Glancing at the image in her hand, he dropped the takeout containers onto the desk and grabbed the phone. “When?”

  Shocked he didn’t ask her who or how, or any of the other questions that must be flying through his mind, her voice cracked. “I don’t know! Soon? Now? Please, just—”

  “Hey, it’s Sam. I need to talk to Lucy,” he said into the phone.

  The breath Emma was holding left with a whoosh when his eyes locked on hers.

  They were too late.

  Oh God!

  Alan had Lucy.

  Emma’s legs turned to jelly, and she dropped into a chair. Drift whimpered and put his head in her lap.

  “Who picked her up?” Sam asked into the phone. “No, it’s okay. It’s been a crazy couple of days. Danny probably forgot I was here. Thanks.” He dropped the receiver into the cradle then yanked it back up again, stabbing in another set of numbers. “That was the community center. A federal agent came by to pick Lucy up. Told them Danny had sent him.”

  Emma twisted her head back and forth. Her heart raced with such abandon the roaring filled her ears. She hopped to her feet and placed her hand on Sam’s arm. “Please, Sam, you have to believe me. It’s Alan. Alan has Lucy. We have to go to the ranch. We have to get her back. I know it sounds stupid and crazy and not something I should know, but—”

  Sam placed his hand over hers, his next beautiful words freeing the tears from her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Emma. I believe you.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Marshall rubbed the pain in his chest, a volatile combination of vending machine coffee and the emotional roller coaster of worrying over how Emma was doing. He’d had at least a dozen arguments with himself that he didn’t need to call and check on her because Sam wouldn’t let anything happen to her, but he wasn’t sure which half of him was winning the fight. He didn’t call her, but he still hadn’t convinced himself leaving her with Sam had been the right thing to do.

  Marshall transferred his unchecked energy into pacing a loop back and forth in front of the giant garage doors of the Kitteridge Fire Department. Outside, the sunlight was playing hard to get, fading quickly ahead of a fast-approaching rainstorm. The dull gray light didn’t help his mood, leaving him nearly as anxious to outrun the weather as he was to get back home.

  He counted to 5,026 steps before Danny finished meeting with the arson investigator and returned to the front of the building.

  “Done?” Marshall asked hopefully.

  Danny ran his hand through his air and exhaled a weary sigh. “For now.”

  “Didn’t go well?”

  They pushed through the front doors and into the randomly spaced splatters of rain. “Didn’t really go at all. Same story. No news.”

  “What about the kid Emma drew? Or the truck?”

  “I couldn’t really tell him about the kid without saying how I knew he was involved, but when I mentioned that a witness thought they’d seen that truck there, wouldn’t you know, it wasn’t the first time that red-and-white Ford made an appearance in the reports.”

  Marshall briefly wondered if he should be more surprised that Emma had nailed down the truck but decided he’d already known it was true. No need to be shocked. If anything, he felt validated. “She was right.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Doesn’t that mean you’re closer to catching him?”

  “Maybe.”

  Frowning at his brother’s uncharacteristic single-word answers, he asked, “You okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  It was a downright lie. Danny wasn’t just the local sheriff dealing with a barn-burning arsonist—he had a killer coming to town, feds at the door, and a possibly artistically psychic houseguest who was caught in the middle of the whole batch of cookies. That wasn’t okay, it was a whole host of crazy. “Well, you look like hell.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Observant.”

  “Just sayin’.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Right. Want me to drive?”

  Danny looked ready to argue but then sighed and tossed over his truck keys. As he took the passenger seat, his phone chimed multiple times. He patted his pockets, found his cell, and pulled it out. “Crap. Seventeen missed calls?”

  Marshall’s coffee heartburn coiled into a knot of paranoia.

  “Hey, Sam. What’s—whoa. Slow down. What? When? How—” Danny backhanded Marshall across the shoulder. “Go, go, go!”

  Marshall slammed the truck into gear. Panic that something had happened to Emma was shot down by a blood-deep fear as Danny’s growing agony and shouted orders were about Lucy.

  Breaking pretty much every traffic law on the books, Marshall had them through town and onto the highway in record time. He took the on-ramp at double the posted speed, praying to God they could take back the time and distance they needed to get home.

  He didn’t need to hear the other side of the conversation—Danny’s panicked shouting made the situation horrifyingly clear.

  Alan Alexander was in Absolution, and he had Lucy.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Emma’s promise to Sam was the only thing keeping her in the passenger seat of his pickup. She cursed herself twice over for making the deal to “stay put” in the first place.

  A few scattered raindrops splattered against the windshield. She leaned closer to the glass, searching for Sam and Bailey. The storm was killing the daylight, making it difficult to see into the shadows of the trees. On the other side of the leafy blockade was the wide-open field that led down to the road in front of the Boyer ranch. The two deputies were using the trees for cover so they could spy on the property, unseen.

  Even though they hadn’t reported seeing any people in the house, Bailey’s description of the black luxury SUV with tinted windows parked around back was all the confirmation she needed.

  Alan was here.

  She could sense his evil as sure as the damp chill crawling into her soul.

  Drift laid his head on the console between the seats and whimpered. She rubbed his head, soothing him and seeking solace for herself. Goose bumps broke across her arms, sending a shiver straight down her spine.

  Sam’s plan was to watch the house and wait for Danny and Marshall to get back before making a move. But the cavalry was still half an hour away, and the weather was only getting worse, which meant their arrival could be delayed even more.

  It was time they didn’t have.

  Lucy was nothing more than a toy to be used to draw Emma in. But it wasn’t just the young girl in jeopardy—it was everyone Alan might believe was aiding her escape. Her time in Absolution was barely a drop compared to the ocean of days she’d spent in the penthouse, yet in such a short breath of time, she’d had more people touch her heart than she could have ever imagined. Hank. Bobby. Maggie. Georgie. Doc. With each name she recited, the greater her fear grew.

  Lucy was only the beginning.

  Alan would take them all—every single life from every single person without care or concern—until he got what he wanted.

  Her.

  Sh
e opened the car door and hopped out into the rain. She’d survived fifteen years, and she could survive a hundred more if she knew Lucy and Marshall and all the others were safe and happy.

  Drift launched himself into the front seat.

  She ordered, “Stay!”

  Closing the door as quietly as she could, she dashed for the trees. Praying she wasn’t going to get turned around, she moved in as straight a line as she could. It wasn’t long before she reached the far side of the grove and the open field that led down to the house.

  Afraid if she stopped moving she would lose the fragile hold she had on her courage, she ran down the hill. Beneath the rumble of the storm, she heard her name cursed out with orders to come back, but she ignored Sam’s demand.

  By the time she reached the head of the driveway, she was drenched, but the frigid rainwater was nothing compared to the icy fear now running through her veins. She stopped next to the mailbox to complete her final task. With trembling fingers, she untied the laces on her boots and pulled them off, discarding the socks along with them. Barefoot, she continued forward.

  She was halfway up the muddy lane when the front door of the house opened. Alan stepped onto the porch with the calm stride of a man who owned the world. He stopped shy of the top step, keeping himself and his expensively tailored suit out of the wet weather. Behind him was Victor, his giant bulk bopping his prisoner forward.

  Lucy’s tears formed the last piece of the drawing Emma had given Sam. It was exactly as it was.

  “Emmaline,” Alan called out. “So good of you to join us.”

  The sound of her name from his lips should have made her cower, but this time, his voice brought out an emotion she hadn’t been sure she was even capable of—anger.

  Shocked, she stopped walking. Her limbs were shaking, but from more than just the cold. She was fighting an overwhelming urge to dash up the steps and punch him in the nose for making Lucy cry.

  His smile faded. “Emmaline. Come here.”

  She climbed the steps to where he waited, her bare feet splashing in the puddles on the wooden steps. At the last second, she remembered to keep her eyes downcast. She couldn’t let the devil see her defiance. She would play the meek mouse; it was a part she knew by heart. But she was done with cowering in the corner while he hurt her friends.