by L. N. Carson
“Drive us.” Kathleen placed her hands on her hips.
He shook his head slightly. “I regret dragging you into this mess. I’m afraid Troy’s life—and those of his wife and children—may be in danger already. I can’t risk yours any more than I already have.”
“You’re gonna leave me here? A sitting duck?”
He ran his hand over his face. “You’re right. Damn. I wish I hadn’t been so quick to ditch the motorcycle. We could really use it now.”
They reached the convenience store as an older, beat-up car pulled up to one of the gas pumps. A young man got out of the car.
“Hey!” Sam called, jogging closer. “I’ll pay for your tank of gas if you’ll give me and my wife a ride. Our car broke down a couple of miles up the road, and we need a lift to my friend’s house. No more than five miles from here.”
“Which direction?” the man asked.
The woman in the passenger seat of the car moved over and banged on the driver’s side window. The man looked at her, and she firmly shook her head.
“I guess we’d better not.” He shrugged apologetically. “I’ve got to get my wife to her doctor’s appointment.”
“I’ll do it.”
Sam turned to see the driver of a pickup truck on the opposite side of the island, who’d apparently overheard the conversation. “Thank you.”
The truck driver jerked his head toward the door. “Go in and pay for the gas, and I’ll start pumping.”
“Will it hold forty?” Sam asked.
“Yep. I’m almost on empty.” He grinned.
“Would you mind if I go ahead and get in the truck?” Kathleen asked. “My feet are killing me after that walk.”
“Go right ahead.” The truck driver removed his gas cap and inserted the pump.
Sam hid a smile as he walked into the station to pay. Kathleen Freemont was a treasure. She hadn’t gotten in that truck because her feet hurt. She’d done it to keep the driver from taking off with however much gas he could get before Sam returned. He wondered if she’d always been so cynical, or if their adventure had made her that way. Somehow, he thought Kathleen’s skepticism had been simmering for a long, long time.
* * *
Kathleen stood between the chimney and a tall boxwood at the corner of the Akers’ home. Sam had instructed her to stay put while he tried to see inside. That suited her fine. She didn’t relish the idea of peeping into people’s windows, especially if it turned out that Sam and Troy had gotten their wires crossed and the whole café fiasco had been a big misunderstanding.
A strangled cry coming from somewhere behind her sent a chill throughout her body. Was it Sam? Troy?
She peered around the side of the chimney and could see the corner of a concrete block building. When the man cried out again, she was sure the sound was coming from inside the building.
Making sure no one was in the backyard, Kathleen ditched her backpack by the boxwood and sprinted to the building. The garage door was closed and had no windows. Crouching, she moved to the side of the building and saw a window and a smaller door. With her back to the wall, she eased to the window.
So much for not peeping into windows.
Glancing inside, she saw two men in dress shirts standing over a third man in cargo shorts who was duct taped to a weight bench. Kathleen ducked back down and crept toward the door, skirting the bushes near the entrance. She tried to turn the knob, but it was locked. She moved back to the side and took two bobby pins from her bun. She straightened one pin out completely and bent the other one in half to use as a lever.
She whipped her head right and left. Not seeing anyone—including Sam—she thought about her next move. Should she unlock this door? Or should she try to find Sam?
Another cry of pain sounded from inside the building. There was no time to search for Sam. She had to help this man. It took about forty-five seconds to pick the lock. Then she pushed open the door slightly, stepped back to the left side, and took a deep breath.
Shouts came from inside as the door continued to slowly creak wider. One man instructed another to see what was going on. Kathleen reminded herself to focus and wait.
A basketball came rolling out through the doorway. Maybe Troy’s assailants were trying to see if the person who’d opened the door was a child. That, or else they were testing to see if someone would open fire on any moving target.
“Come on out,” a man called in a singsong voice. A gun eased through the doorway, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man who kept his weapon trained in front of him as he ran a quick search of the area.
He stepped out onto the grass, as she shrunk into the shadows of the shrubs.
With a deep breath, she made her decision. She raised her hands and moved into the open. His head swiveled toward her.
“I-I’m sorry.” She chewed her lip for good measure.
“It’s okay.” He grinned. “You can come inside and have some fun with us. I bet you’re a lot of fun.”
He reached for her arm, but she sidestepped, grabbed the gun’s slider mechanism with her left hand, and delivered a wrist punch with her right.
The man’s jaw dropped when his weapon fell easily into Kathleen’s grip. She took a step backward and primed the gun to be fired.
Hearing someone approaching from behind her, Kathleen said, “Stop, or I’ll shoot him in the head.”
“It’s me,” Sam said.
She was relieved, but she didn’t show it.
Never reveal yourself to your opponent.
The other agent shouted from inside the building, “What in hell’s going on out there, Larry?”
Before anyone could react to the other agent’s shout, a child’s voice called, “Daddy?”
Kathleen stiffened at the sound but didn’t take her eyes off her opponent—Larry. She could only hope Sam could somehow get the kid out of the fray.
“Daddy!” the child called again.
The other agent stepped out the door and fired his weapon. The next few seconds were a blur. The man still inside the building—presumably Troy—uttered an anguished, “No!” Kathleen moved slightly to her left, aimed over Larry’s shoulder, and fired at the man in the doorway. She shot him in the upper right chest.
She figured the agents must be wearing protective vests because the agent merely staggered before taking aim at her. Larry moved to take Kathleen down as the man in the doorway discharged his gun. The bullet hit Larry in the shoulder, but he still came at Kathleen.
Still hearing the screams of the child, she pulled back the slide to load another bullet into the chamber.
Larry tackled Kathleen before she could fire. She threw the gun as she hit the ground so he couldn’t use it against her. She raised her left knee into the space between herself and Larry’s chest, and jammed her right knee against his hip. She pushed against him with both legs and slid away from him.
Jumping to her feet, she saw Larry lying on his back with a bullet hole in his forehead. Her eyes flew to the other agent. He too was lying on the ground. She saw Sam standing nearby with his gun—the one with the silencer—and a little boy cowering behind him.
With a trembling hand, Kathleen brushed the hair out of her eyes and staggered across the grass. She heard Sam’s voice, but it sounded far away. She didn’t turn around.
* * *
Sam happily relinquished Troy’s son, Anthony, into his mother’s loving care while he checked on Troy. The woman had run outside as soon as she’d heard gunshots. Sam’s heart wrenched at the sight of Troy helplessly duct taped to the weight bench with tears streaming down his face.
“Anthony?”
“Fine,” Sam said. “He’s with his momma.”
“Did you get ’em?” Troy rasped.
Sam nodded, taking out his pocketknife and cutting the duct tape that bound his friend’s hands to the back of the bench. “They’re both dead.” He winced at Troy’s mangled fingers. “You need to get to the hospital and get that hand checked out and
your fingers set.”
Troy sat up. “When I heard that gunshot…” He covered his face with his right hand.
“It’s all right, man. I’m sorry all of this happened.” He cut Troy’s legs free.
“What’re we gonna do with them?” Troy asked, lowering his hand and gesturing toward the yard.
“I’ll drag them in here until I can figure out what to do. You get to the hospital.”
“And say what?”
“Say you dropped a weight on it,” Debra said, from the doorway. “See, Anthony, Daddy’s okay.”
The little boy had been hiding behind his mother’s legs, but he ran now to Troy, who hugged him.
“Where are the girls?” Troy asked his wife.
“Sleeping.” She shook her head. “They slept through the whole thing.”
“I’ll be back in a second,” Sam said. “I need to find Kathleen.”
He found her behind the boxwood in a seated fetal position with her arms clasped around her knees. She was rocking and whimpering.
“Come here, baby,” he said gently. He carefully took her hands and helped her to her feet.
She clung to him and sobbed against his shoulder.
“It’s okay.” He patted her back. “Everything’s all right.” It wasn’t—not yet—and he had no idea how they’d get out of this mess, but she didn’t need to know that right now. “You did great. You weren’t kidding about that black-belt stuff. Good thing I didn’t try anything that first night.” His feeble attempt to make her smile failed.
He stopped talking and simply held her.
Chapter Four
It seemed to Kathleen like it had been half an hour or more; but, in reality, it couldn’t have taken Sam more than five minutes to calm her.
He cupped her face. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
She sniffled. “No, I don’t think so. You?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “I need to go check on Troy as soon as you’re able.”
“Let’s go.”
She put on her backpack and followed Sam around the house to see a man and woman trying to haul the agents’ bodies into the block building. She thought the man was the one who’d been bound to the weight bench. It was apparent even from a distance that the fingers of his left hand were protruding at grotesque angles.
The woman must be his wife, and she was pissed. Kathleen didn’t blame her. Through no fault of their own, this family had been terrorized. And their nightmare might not be over.
Sam rushed to help Troy, and Kathleen helped the woman.
Grabbing one of Larry’s legs, Kathleen murmured, “I’m sorry.”
The woman didn’t answer right then, but as soon as the foursome finished getting the two agents’ bodies hidden, she considered Kathleen. “You know, I thought I’d done the most exciting thing I’d ever do six months ago when I delivered twins.” She studied the blood on the ground. “What a joke.”
“Debra, I can’t apologize enough,” Sam said.
“You sure can’t.” She turned completely away from him. “Wanna get cleaned up?” she asked Kathleen.
“Please.”
“Follow me.” Over her shoulder, Debra called, “Troy, you two get your shit figured out so I can get you to the hospital.”
Kathleen plodded behind Debra into the brick house.
“How do you play into—” –Debra waved her arm— “—This?”
“I gave Sam a lift after he crashed his motorcycle.”
Debra barked out a laugh. “Wow. Ain’t you the lucky duck?” She nodded toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s the first door on the right.”
“Thanks.” Kathleen bathroom followed her directions and closed the door behind her. Leaning over the vanity, she peered into the mirror. Her face was pale beneath the smudged makeup and dirt. Feeling her knees go weak, she used the sink to brace herself until she felt stronger. She was afraid to sit—she might not be able to stand back up.
She set her backpack on the counter and rummaged through it. A packet of makeup wipes allowed her to clean her face and arms without ruining any of Debra’s towels.
She removed the few remaining bobby pins and brushed her tangled hair. Looking, but not quite feeling, human again, she emerged from the bathroom.
The little boy she’d seen earlier stood near the door and threw his arms around her legs. When he pulled away, she dropped to her knees to hug him and to see his face. He appeared to be fine. “Hi. I’m Kathleen.”
“You helped save my daddy,” he whispered.
“Your daddy is a very brave and strong man.” She caressed his downy cheek.
“I know.” He smiled slightly.
“Anthony, go check on your sisters please,” Debra said.
“I did. They’re not doing nuffin’.”
“Pretty please?”
Anthony scampered down the hall.
Kathleen straightened. “He’s precious. The twins—are they boys, girls, one of each?”
“Girls.” She handed Kathleen a bottle of water. “Aaliyah and Aria.”
“Thanks.” She took the water and unscrewed the cap. “Those are beautiful names.” She drank deeply from the bottle.
“Come sit down.” Debra led the way into the living room.
“My clothes are filthy,” Kathleen said. “I’m not getting anywhere near your furniture.” She grimaced. “And, yet, I hugged your son. I’m really sorry.”
Debra gave an authentic laugh this time. “Sit down. Your getting a little dirt on my couch or on my boy—who’s five years old and always into something he shouldn’t be—is the absolute least of my worries.”
“You’ve got a point.” Kathleen perched on the edge of the sofa.
“Thank you.” Debra spoke softly.
Kathleen thought at first the woman was thanking her for sitting down. Maybe Kathleen’s standing or pacing had been making Debra nervous.
But Debra continued. “The agents had instructed me to stay here while they talked with Troy privately. It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know what to do. I was looking out the window when you picked the lock and opened the workshop door. Are you some kind of special agent or something?”
“Hardly.” Kathleen stared down at the floral-patterned rug beneath her feet. “There’s nothing special about me.”
“You’re braver than I was.” Debra drew in an unsteady breath. “All I did was stand by and watch…until Anthony snuck outside on me.”
“You had a lot more to lose.” Kathleen placed a hand on Debra’s arm. “What would’ve happened to your babies if both you and your husband had been hurt?”
“That’s what I kept telling myself until I spotted Anthony’s little head bobbing along outside.” She patted her chest. “I swear, I thought my heart would burst.”
The two women sat in silence for a moment, and Kathleen finished the bottle of water.
“You honestly didn’t know Sam Garnett before he wrecked his motorcycle in front of you?” Debra asked.
“Nope, I sure didn’t.”
“Then, honey, why are you playing Bonnie to his Clyde?”
“I just want to help.”
Debra raised her eyebrows as she gave her head a rapid shake. “There are easier ways to save the world. Hell, there’s probably easier ways to become a martyr.”
* * *
“We’ve got to figure this out fast.” Sam put his hands on his hips and looked around the dimly lit room. He’d closed the door, and they’d elected to forego turning on the lights.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Troy, slumped on a stool in front of his workbench, was quickly fading.
“If I had a vehicle, I could wrap these bodies in those tarps over there and ditch them…somewhere.” He trailed off. He had no vehicle—not even the vehicle of the two DPA agents, which they must have hidden. And he had no clue where to dump the bodies. He wondered briefly if the men had families, but he put the thought out of his mind. He could wrestle with guilt later. For now, he was in s
urvival mode.
“My neighbor has a truck. It’s a Farm Use vehicle.” Troy swayed on the stool. “He’s on vacation, but I’ve got a key.” He stood, wobbled, and Sam closed the gap between them to steady his friend.
“Where’s the key?” Sam asked.
“Pegboard…by the door.”
Sam helped Troy to the door.
“Green key ring…good guy…lets me use the truck whenever.”
“All right.” Sam pocketed the green key ring. “Which key is your van?”
“B-blue.”
Sam took the blue key and half-carried Troy to the blue minivan parked in the driveway. Having buckled Troy into passenger side, Sam said, “I’m going to get Debra and the kids. Stay put.”
No chance of Troy going anywhere. His head was already drooping to one side.
Sam ran into the house. “Debra!”
“Right here,” she said, shouldering her purse. “Is it time?”
“Yeah. Hurry.”
“You get Anthony,” Debra said as she strode down the hall. “Kathleen and I will get the babies.”
Kathleen barely looked at him as she trailed after Debra. It occurred to him she might be in psychological shock.
They got the kids secured into their seats.
“Troy dropped a weight on his hand,” Sam told Debra. “You got him to the hospital as quickly as you could.” He tried to press some money into her hand.
“I don’t want a thing from you. I want you gone—that’s it.” She started the van. “Take care of Kathleen, though. She deserves better than this.”
Before Sam could respond, Debra drove away.
He spun around and found Kathleen awaiting further instructions. “She’s right. You deserve a lot better than this.”
“What do we need to do now?” She squinted toward the front of the building. “Spray off the grass with the water hose?”
“Um…yeah. You can do that while I get the truck if you want.”
“All right.”
He was torn again by the probability that Kathleen had been traumatized and needed to be cared for and the fact that they needed to get away from the Akers’ house as quickly as possible. More DPA agents could be here anytime.
* * *
