Agent Daddy

by Alice Sharpe

  “Wearing a ski mask?”

  “Yeah.”

  Trip glanced into the hospital room. He knew the sheriff and Chief Novak had both already talked to Faith. She looked exhausted as a nurse’s aide helped her into a wheelchair for discharge. He pulled Torrence farther away from the opening and said, “Do you believe him?”

  “I didn’t until he confessed he ran Miss Bishop off the road several days ago. He admitted he threatened her on the sidewalk. But he swears he didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “What about letting the air out of her tires?”

  “He won’t confess to that, either, but I think he’s embarrassed because it’s such a sophomoric trick.”

  “What did they find at Faith’s apartment and out on that hill?”

  “Novak has men out there this morning looking for footprints, processing the scene. But there was more snow during the night and the weather is still deteriorating. He should have done more last night.”

  “How about the cut wires? That takes some familiarity with the place.”

  “Normally, yes, but in this case it’s all on the outside of the place and it’s old—it wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

  The aide rolled Faith out into the hall just then. Trip smiled at her. “I’ll catch up,” he called, as she and the aide headed for the elevator. Looking back at the sheriff, he said, “Quick now, what did they learn from the autopsy on Gina?”

  “It’s not scheduled until this afternoon, but we do know a few things. Gina Cooke was tied up, one rope around her neck, another around her wrists and ankles. It looks like she managed to get her hands free and saw off the rope fastened around her neck. Her body is scratched and bruised, lividity revealed she’d been lying on her left side for a while after death, but she wasn’t dead for four days, so that means someone around here was keeping her alive.”

  “There goes Novak’s claim that Peter Saks killed her days ago.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t let Saks off the hook.”

  “Did Novak search his place for some sign of Marnie Pincer like he said he was going to?”

  “Impounded his car and took his house apart. Nothing yet.”

  Trip watched as the elevator doors closed. “I have to go,” he said. “Keep me posted, okay?”

  “Wait. Take a second and tell me what your FBI contact said.”

  “Colby received a report that two men matching the description of Roberts and Edwards were seen buying gas the day before yesterday about fifty miles south of here.”

  “Two days ago!”

  “Yeah, the information got misplaced. Unfortunately, it happens once and awhile. He also said they’ve found out that Edwards has an estranged uncle living in Howser. They’re mounting a search there in approximately—” he glanced at his watch “—an hour. I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

  He delivered the last line of this as he strode to the door leading to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he met Faith and the aide on the ground floor.

  A minute or two later, he’d retrieved his sister’s red sedan and helped Faith inside. Snow swirled through the sky, blew against the car.

  “What about the children?” she asked again, as they left the parking lot.

  “We’re going to go get them.”

  “Wouldn’t they be safer where they are?”

  “The Matthews are great people, but they’re elderly and they’ve made it clear they can’t take care of the kids for more than a few hours at a time. It was stretching it leaving them there last night.” He sighed wearily. “There’s no way they can handle an additional night. Mrs. Murphy is back at the ranch by now. She can take care of them.”

  “I’m not worried about caring for them,” Faith said, searching his face. “You know I love them.”

  “I know. Listen, I’ve made a decision. Your family is in Westerly, right?”

  “No, they left early this morning for Hawaii.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  He swore. “Okay, then we’ll do it this way. We’ll go home and pack everyone up, and then I’m seeing that you and the kids get away from here before the weather makes that impossible.”

  “If we’re snowed in, then they’ll be snowed out, right?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and that was the truth. He didn’t know where they were, or how many of them there were. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they were headed here. He glanced at the dashboard clock. The cops should have raided Edwards’s relative’s house by now. Why didn’t Colby call?

  “What about you?” Faith asked.

  “I’m staying here. I’m seeing this through.”

  “But—”

  “One woman is dead, one is missing. There will be a half-dozen law agencies in Shay by tomorrow. I’ll be in good company.”

  He turned the windshield wipers on high and was glad he’d had the snow tires put on Susan’s sedan. For a second, he flashed on his years in Miami, when the closest he got to “snow” was a drug raid. Ah, the good old days.

  An hour later, the children were in the backseat, and they headed home to regroup. Noelle was giving a very loud blow-by-blow account of the visit with her grandparents, struggling to be heard over Colin who was protesting his car seat. Faith, whose beautiful face was scratched and bloodied from the tumble down the hill, looked as white as the snow blanketing the countryside.

  And was there snow. The roads weren’t plowed, and the snow was collecting, making driving increasingly difficult. Add a temperature drop and a howling wind, and he began to wonder if he’d be able to get Faith and the kids away.

  Damn! He should have made sure they were gone days ago, but he’d gotten distracted by his growing feelings for Faith and the mess with Gina, and then Marnie, to say nothing of David Lee and Peter Saks.

  And now someone had come close to abducting Faith.

  The conclusion Trip would like to believe was that David Lee was behind it. He’d been found on the path, he’d threatened her at least twice, and now he was safely locked away. If Lee had tried to take Faith, and Peter Saks had killed Gina and Marnie Pincer got pissed off at her husband and ran off with some undisclosed friend, then no one was in danger anymore.

  But it didn’t sit well. Three women, all victims of unrelated violence, all within the last few days, all in or near their vehicles at the time? Unlikely. Gina abducted, then murdered. Marnie abducted, fate unknown. Faith abducted, escaped by pure chance.

  Signature or no signature, it sounded like Neil Roberts, and that made Trip’s gut clench.

  THE SNOW CONTINUED, THE wind picked up and the temperature dropped. Faith carried Colin into the house with his head buried against her neck, his little arms gripping her like she was a lifesaver. Trip carried Noelle.

  The ranch house was warm, thanks to a fire in the big kitchen grate that George Plum had started. He explained Mrs. Murphy couldn’t get her subcompact out to the ranch until the roads were plowed and that half the ranch hands had some version of the stomach flu. Faith was relieved when Trip convinced George to go back to his quarters, as the last thing they needed on top of everything else was to get sick.

  Faith, on the other hand, refused to be coddled. She did not want to fall into the role of cosseted victim, a role she’d given up weeks before and had no intention of revisiting. She was relieved that Trip seemed to understand this, relieved he didn’t try to get her to sit down or take it easy or pace herself, or any of the other things her father and brother and Olivia had used to try to help.

  She needed and wanted to stay busy.

  There were more phone messages from wannabe babysitters and Faith dutifully made notes for callbacks when the weather improved.

  Trip started making grilled cheese sandwiches while Faith warmed soup for Colin. Noelle sat at the table, coloring in a new book her grandfather had given her, other toys scattered across the tabletop. Colin was in his high chair, kicking Noelle’s toys and banging a plastic spo
on against her shoulder.

  “Daddy? Make Colin stop,” Noelle whined.

  The word Daddy reverberated through the room. Trip put down the cheese slicer and walked over to Noelle, kneeling by her chair until they were eye to eye.

  Faith couldn’t see his face, but she could see Noelle’s, and the little girl looked nervous. She finally whispered, “Is it okay if I call you that, Uncle Trip?”

  “Of course it’s okay,” Trip said, wrapping her in a hug. When Colin whacked him with the spoon, Trip stood up and moved the high chair farther away. The baby squealed in protest. Trip grabbed a box of dry cereal from the shelf and delivered a handful to Colin’s tray.

  Peace reigned.

  “Nicely done,” Faith said as he returned to her side. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. She found herself yearning for the night.

  “I think I’m beginning to win them over,” he said. “How about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have I won you over?”

  “Pretty damn close.” She laughed.

  He gestured at the little handmade doll Noelle had propped against the crayon box. “Is that the new toy of the week?”

  “Yes, Buster is bedtime comfort and this doll is daytime.”

  “It looks handmade.”

  “Eddie Reed’s mother sent it over for Noelle. Did you know he lives with his mom?”

  “I know he drives to and from work. I don’t imagine he’ll be coming in today.”

  Faith glanced out the window at the blowing snow. She was glad they were alone in this little oasis, this little island of domesticity. “He and his mother live on a Christmas tree farm over that direction,” she said, trying to point in the general direction Eddie had indicated. When Trip, who she finally noticed was distracted, glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes, she added, “Why do you keep checking the time?”

  His cell phone rang. “This is why,” he said, checking the number and leaving the kitchen.

  He doesn’t want me or the children to hear what he’s saying. As she finished making lunch and feeding Colin his soup, the warm, cozy atmosphere began to fade away. What if David Lee was out of jail again? What if he came looking for her? What about Colin and Noelle?

  Trip will protect the kids.

  And he would protect her, too. It hadn’t been lost on her that he’d stayed on the hillside with her instead of chasing David Lee. That must have strained his instincts, but it said something about how much he cared for her.

  Of course he cared for her. He showed it in every glance, in every gesture.

  He came back into the room, his expression dispelling any last remnants of tranquility. “That was Colby.”

  “The FBI guy.”

  “Yeah.” He motioned her over to the stove, where he turned his back to the children and kept his voice low. “They raided a house in Howser this morning. That’s three or four hours north. It belonged to an uncle of Gene Edwards. I haven’t told you, but Edwards and Roberts were seen south of here a couple of days ago.”

  Faith swallowed. “Did they find some trace of them?”

  “The uncle was shot in the head. Dead at least a day. His car was stolen, his gun cabinet ransacked. They don’t know for sure yet what else is missing. They’re processing the scene, looking for fingerprints or some proof they were the ones who murdered the old man.”

  “Then we’re back where we started? We don’t know if they’re on their way to Canada or here?”

  He put his arms around her. “No, it’s not the same. I know it was them. Before it was all so up in the air, but this isn’t a coincidence—they’re on their way. We have to get everyone out of here right now.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “Pack a few clothes for the kids. I’m going out to the barn to tell whoever I can find to take off, then I’m taking you and the kids to safety, weather be damned.”

  “And you’re coming with us?”

  “Yes.”

  She could hardly believe her ears. She stretched up to kiss him, his mouth the warm haven it always was despite the fear gnawing at her bones. “I’m so glad you changed your mind.”

  He started to move away and she touched his arm. He turned back to her and she said, “I just want you to know I’m grateful.”

  “Grateful? For what?”

  For you, she wanted to say. She shrugged, “You know, for everything.”

  He stared right into her eyes. “You must know how I feel about you, Faith. I—”

  “Not now, not like this,” she interrupted. “Later, when we’re all safe.”

  “If that’s how you want it,” he said, and leaning down, quickly kissed her cheek again.

  As the door closed behind him, Faith deposited Colin in his playpen and set Noelle to work choosing three small toys for each of them to take in the truck. She was upstairs packing their clothes and baby things into a duffle bag when an explosion shook the very foundation of the house.

  She flew to the window and looked outside.

  It had stopped snowing, but one of the big barns was engulfed in flames and the wind blew the flames toward the house. She saw two men emerge from another barn, hurrying toward the fire. One of them was Trip and he was yelling and gesturing with his arms. As she watched, the man a few feet in back of him fell to his knees, red splatters arcing out behind him, staining the snow.

  It was Paul Avery.

  Trip turned to look at the fallen man. Faith struggled with the window, but Trip had locked it, and in her panic, she couldn’t raise the sash. Did he know that Paul had been shot? A new movement caught her eye and she saw yet another man step out of the horse barn, glance around, then take aim at Trip’s back.

  She knew that face, those dead eyes. Neil Roberts, here, in Shay, at the ranch. In the next instant, she saw the snow puff a few feet in front of Trip from the impact of a bullet.

  Looking around for something with which to break the glass so she could shout a warning, she saw Trip draw a gun from the holster inside his waistband and run for cover in the half-built barn. Other men appeared from other buildings, the snow hampering their progress. One more man went down and they scattered.

  The fire, meanwhile, seemed to grow in intensity as the human drama played itself out below. She’d seen enough. She raced down the stairs, cursing her decision not to learn how to handle a gun. If she knew how to use a rifle she could break an upstairs window and pick off the bad guys like a movie heroine.

  But even if she could actually hit a moving target, it would draw attention to herself and ultimately the children. Could she take the chance of exposing Noelle and Colin to whoever came through the door?

  No.

  She ran into the den, broke the glass in the gun case and chose a weapon. If she had to, she could shoot someone point-blank. Faced with figuring out which ammunition went with which gun, however, she abandoned that plan and grabbed the phone to call for help. No dial tone. Snagging her handbag off the hall table, she scooped up Colin and grabbed Noelle’s hand, running toward the kitchen.

  Maybe they could escape out the back, but what then? She mentally reviewed which buildings they could reach without being seen from the front—there was a garden shack back there, but it offered minimal protection. The thought of getting trapped out in the snow with two kids and a gunman was unthinkable and yet the thought of sitting in the house while it went up in flames was just as terrifying.

  Trip’s sole goal would be to reach them, to protect them. All she could do was keep them safe until he came.

  If he came.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There wasn’t time to curse himself or the gods or the FBI. There wasn’t time to do anything but get out of the way of flying bullets and try to put out the fire before it reached the house.

  But where had these men come from, how had they approached the ranch unheard and unseen?

  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind who his adversaries were or what they wante
d. He had to outsmart them, outlast them, get around them. Paul Avery was dead; another man, he wasn’t sure who, was at best wounded.

  He found a ladder in the half-constructed barn and used it to gain access to the beam that ran parallel to the ground, staying low, inching along in hopes of reaching a spot he could use as a vantage point for taking out the sniper.

  Almost at once, he saw George Plum erupt from his cabin wearing pajama bottoms, boots and a heavy coat. George’s gaze was glued to the raging fire, seemingly oblivious to the danger into which he ran.

  “Get down, go back!” Trip yelled, flailing an arm, giving away his position but there was no choice. George looked around as though trying to figure out what was going on. A second later, the sharp pop of gunfire resulted in George grabbing his shoulder and spinning to the ground. Another bullet hit the beam by Trip’s hip. He rolled off the beam and hit the ground twelve feet later. The two feet of accumulated snow absorbed some of the shock of the fall and he scrambled to his feet quickly, sure the sniper would be coming after him any second.

  No, wait. Two bullets, two angles, two snipers.

  Through the half-constructed walls, he saw George making his way back toward the relative safety of his cabin as a man’s voice yelled, “Luke Tripper? Give yourself up, we don’t want nobody else.”

  Neil Roberts. Probably Edwards, too. The truth was, Edwards and Roberts would kill everyone on this ranch whether Trip came forward or not. At that moment, the most important thing for Trip to do was find better shelter and come up with a plan to get Faith and the kids out of harm’s way.

  He took off in the opposite direction, toward the back of Faith’s cabin, using anything he could as shelter along the way, giving up speed for stealth. Thank goodness for the continued noise of the fire. He came to a dead halt when he saw his destination already occupied by two of his employees standing with hands held over their heads. A third man with his back to Trip held a gun on them.