7
K atie checked on Sam, then sat down with a cup of coffee after putting some more logs in the fireplace. The fire made the living room warm, shadowy, and cozy. It was as if she’d commanded it to happen. Her cell rang. “Sheriff Benedict here.”
“This is Agent Hodges, Sheriff. I just got a call from Agent Ashburn. The van is a gunmetal gray Dodge, full license is LTD 3109, registered to Mr. Beauregard Jones of Alexandria, Virginia. Is this one of the men?”
“Sam said his name was Beau, so bingo, Agent Hodges, it sounds like you guys nailed it. Excellent.”
“Agent Ashburn said he was heading out to Alexandria himself to check it all out. He’ll let us know what he finds.”
“Good. How close are you to me?”
“We’re only another half-hour, maybe. Unfortunately, Sheriff, we just blew a back tire a few minutes ago. It’ll take us a while to get rolling again.”
She shut down her cell and leaned back. Why had Fatso and Beau stayed in the area? Why would Beau go to the local pharmacy? Were they idiots?
If bandages from the first-aid section of the pharmacy would take care of Fatso, then she hadn’t hurt him very badly. Or maybe it was a bad wound and they were trying anything they could get their hands on.
Where were they holed up? Not at Bleaker’s cabin, the place was nailed down tight, police tape over the windows and a deputy outside. But where had they gone? Just stayed in the van? She raised her head, frowned and listened. She heard the rain, nothing but the rain, and the wind battering tree branches against the house.
She got up, checked on Sam and Keely. They were both still sound asleep. She lightly touched her palm to Sam’s forehead. No fever.
She stood there, looking down at the boy, thinking there was nothing else to do until everyone arrived. Then her breath caught. She knew why the men were still in town, and it wasn’t because Fatso was too badly hurt to be moved. No, they still were after Sam. Was there that much money involved?
She pulled her SIG Sauer out of its holster on the top shelf of her closet, shoved it in the back of her blue jeans, and pulled a loose sweatshirt over it. Then she checked her ankle holster, where her two-shot derringer was held tight. If anything happened, she was ready.
All right, you bastards, come to Mama.
Her heart raced. She could feel her skin, smell the oak trees as the winds whipped through them, even hear the soft crackle of a single ember in the fireplace.
She pulled out her cell to call over some deputies as she walked to the living room window, everything inside her alert and ready, and pulled back the drapes. She very nearly fell over. A man’s face was staring in at her. He looked as surprised as she was, but his gloved fist slammed through the window, and in that hand was a gun, pointed right at her chest.
“Don’t even think about moving, lady.”
She dropped her cell phone. Could she get to her gun before he killed her? No, probably not. “You’re Beauregard Jones, I take it?”
“Shit! How do you know who I am?”
“Law enforcement is pretty good nowadays, Mr. Jones. Just about everybody in Jessborough knows who you are. The FBI is already at your place in Alexandria and more agents will be here in about three minutes.” She looked behind Beau. “Where’s Fatso?”
“You just shut up, lady.”
“I’m not a lady, I’m the sheriff. Surely you know that. How’d you find out where I lived? What’s the matter? Is Fatso hurt so bad he can’t help you anymore?”
“Shut your trap, no, wait, back up, just back up. Nail your ass to that spot and don’t move or I’ll kill you and that cute little girl won’t have a mommy any longer.” He kept the gun pointed at her as he broke the rest of the glass in the window. Then he stepped through.
When he stood dripping water on her grandmother’s prized Aubusson carpet, he looked her up and down, glanced over at the fireplace and said, “You’ve given us lots of trouble, Sheriff. And here you are, looking all tousled and frumpy like any good little housewife on a Saturday night.”
She was aware of her SIG Sauer nestled against her back, the derringer pressed against the ankle holster. “I haven’t begun to give you trouble, Mr. Jones.”
He gave her a big grin, all big white crooked teeth, the two front ones overlapping, just like Alice had said. “I like a girl with a big mouth. Fatso’s real name is Clancy and he doesn’t like people bugging him about that gut of his. But no matter. He’s waiting for us in the van. You’ll meet him soon enough. Go get the boy.”
Beau realized in that instant that it wasn’t a good idea to let her go off by herself. She didn’t look at all tough, and she looked real young, what with her hair pulled back with a tie and no makeup on her face. But she had to have something going for her, they’d elected her sheriff of this hick town, after all. He’d been watching her through the window, watching her eyes just like his daddy had taught him before he’d gotten himself blown away during a bank robbery down in Atlanta. His daddy would have called those eyes of hers hard, the kind that saw way down deep into you, and he’d never want to drink a beer with her. He hadn’t realized how his daddy would have hated her eyes until he’d seen her up really close. He thought she knew things, thought things, that he couldn’t.
Beau wasn’t about to take any chances with her, not with those eyes. “Wait,” he said, “you walk ahead of me, don’t make no sudden movements or I’ll have to put a bullet in your back. You got that?”
Katie fanned her hands and said, “I got it.”
“Let’s go.”
“I don’t understand something, Mr. Jones.”
“Walk, Sheriff, stop trying to slow things down. You might be right about the FBI coming, but hey, they’re clowns, everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t know that. Why do you think they’re clowns?”
“Just shut up.” He waved the gun. “Move, now.”
Katie walked out of the living room into the small front hallway. She said over her shoulder, “I told you that the FBI knows who you are, and they’re on their way here right this minute. You also know they’re not clowns. If you don’t get out of here now, you’re going to be in the deepest trouble imaginable. There’s really got to be a lot in it for you to make you come here for the boy. Somebody’s paying you and Fatso lots of money, right?”
“Shut up, Sheriff. Keep walking, or I’ll just shoot you and get him myself. Hey, I just might take the little girl, too. Bet I could get some loot for that cute little button.”
“Yes, there must be big bucks in this for you and Fatso to take this kind of risk.” In ten steps, she’d be at the guest room door. And Sam was inside.
Beau grunted. “Keep moving.”
She had to do something, had to do it soon. It was up to her, not the FBI, not anybody else. But he was holding what looked like a 10mm Smith amp; Wesson pistol, a good weapon. Patience; she had to be patient. There was lots of time before he got hold of Sam.
She opened the door of the bedroom slowly.
The room was dark-and cold. It was very cold, she could feel the wind touching her cheek. The light switch flicked on behind her.
“Damn! Where are you, boy? You come out here now or I’ll kill the sheriff!”
“The room’s cold,” Katie said, turning to face Beau, so relieved she wanted to dance. “Don’t you see? Sam heard you coming and went out through the window.”
“No, that’s impossible. He’s just a little kid-”
“Yeah, sure, and he went out the window at Bleaker’s cabin, too, got away from you and Clancy. He’s long gone now, Beau. Just feel how cold it is in here. You’d best get your butt out of here now before the FBI comes and hauls it off to jail.”
Beau didn’t know what to do. He eyed the open window, the rain whipping the light drapes into the room, the wind making him shiver. “Gonna ruin the floor, all that rain,” he said. He waved the pistol at her. “Go close the window.”
Katie closed the window, taking her time. She t
ried to look through the thick rain, but didn’t see any movement, any shadow of a little boy. Where was Sam?
She turned, hoping he couldn’t see the satisfaction in her eyes. Sam was out of it, at least for now. It was just between the two of them and he was rattled. Just let him get a bit closer.
Beau walked quickly to the door and motioned with the pistol for her to come to him.
“May I suggest that you slink out of here while you still can, Beau? Or better yet, why don’t you drop that gun and let me take you to my nice warm facilities?”
“Shut up, you infernal woman. What we’re going to do is get that cute little girl. Maybe we can negotiate a trade.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “No, take me and leave the little girl alone, do you hear me, Beau? Leave her alone or I’ll kill you so slow and so hard you’ll scream so loud even the Devil won’t want you.”
But Beau just laughed, pushed her in front of him until he himself shoved open Keely’s bedroom door. “Come on out, kid! I’ve got your mama!”
There wasn’t a sound.
Beau flipped the light switch.
Both of them looked at the lump beneath the bedcovers. Katie’s heart nearly dropped to her knees, but then she saw something wasn’t right here. Keely had ears as sharp as a dog’s. Why was she just lying there? Beau waved Katie to the far side of the room, walked to the bed, and poked the lump with the muzzle of his gun.
“Come on out, little girl. Your uncle Beau’s gonna take you for a nice long ride.”
8
T he lump didn’t move. Beau poked his gun harder.
“Not again.” He jerked back the covers. There was a pillow molded in the shape of a person, a very little person, underneath the covers.
Both Sam and Keely were gone.
Katie was nearly giddy. “Looks like my kid’s pretty smart, doesn’t it, Beau?” Thank the good Lord for Katie’s favorite climbing tree.
“I hate this job,” Beau said. “All right, the little kids aren’t dummies. It’s you and me now, Sheriff, and we’re heading outside. When we’re clear of this place, I’m going to whump your ass.”
“Okay,” she said, so relieved she thought she’d choke on it, “since you put it so nicely.”
Where was the FBI?
At that instant, Katie could swear she heard the soft purr of a car motor. She looked at Beau out of the corner of her eyes, realized he hadn’t heard a thing.
The rain had picked up again and battered sideways in through the open window Beau had smashed in the living room.
Beau didn’t look happy. “You’re walking too slow. Move! This is your fault, you bitch! The slower you walk, the more I’m going to hurt you.”
He shoved her hard, and then, because he wasn’t stupid, he took a quick step back.
“Go! To the front door, now!”
You want a hostage, Beau? That’s just fine with me, you bozo.
She walked swiftly to the front door, slid free the dead bolt, and opened it.
She saw a flashlight beam aiming toward her, then a hand quickly covered it. Someone was close.
She wanted to shout that Beau was right behind her with a gun at her back, but she kept her mouth shut. Anyone watching would see him soon enough.
Beau shoved the gun against her back. “Go, move! Get those arms up, clasp your hands behind your neck. Get out there!”
She put her hands behind her neck, walked through the open front door, and stopped on the front porch. The overhang didn’t help much since the wind was slapping the rain sideways. Katie shouted, “You out there, Clancy?”
Not a sound, just another flicker of a flashlight whipping around, cutting through the thick rain, its vague beam a ghostly light. She thought she heard men’s voices, low and whispering. Was Agent Savich here? Or had Wade gotten worried and come over? Whoever it was, she hoped they had a good view of her and Beau.
Beau shouted, “Clancy, drive the van up next to the front porch! If you FBI geeks are out there, stay back or the sheriff’s dead. You got that?”
There was no answer, just the wind, rumbling through the trees at the sides of her house.
“You hear me, Clancy? We’re taking her with us. Then we’ll see about the boy.”
A man’s voice came out of the night, off to her right. “In that case, Mr. Jones, why don’t you just consider us observers. Do whatever you want to do.”
Beau jumped. “Yeah, you guys just stay back. I’m taking her and we’re leaving.”
Katie recognized Agent Savich’s voice, and there was something else in his voice, something meant for her. She wished she could see his face, then she’d know what he wanted her to do.
The big van came hurtling toward the house, its tires spewing up black mud. Fatso was at the wheel, turning it hard until the front fender scraped against the steps of the front porch. She watched the big man lean across the front seat and push the door open. “Get her in here, Beau, fast!”
Savich’s voice, loud and sharp, “Now, Sheriff!”
Katie threw herself off the front porch, jerking her SIG Sauer free even as she crashed against the back tire of the van.
She heard Beau yell, heard two shots. With no hesitation, Fatso gunned the van, but he didn’t get far. She saw Agent Savich turn smoothly and shoot out both back tires. Fatso skidded in the mud and crashed hard into an oak tree. She could see him hit the windshield, then bounce back, his head lolling to the side. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Katie swung her SIG Sauer around toward Beau just as Savich leapt onto the porch. He was so fast he was a blur, and his leg, smooth, graceful, like a dancer, kicked the gun out of Beau’s hand. It went flying across the porch, landing against a rocking chair leg. Beau grunted, grabbed his hand, and turned to run.
Agent Savich just grabbed his collar, jerked him around, and sent his fist into his belly, then his jaw.
Beau cursed, and tried to fight back. Savich merely belted him again, this time in his kidney. He shoved him down onto the porch and stood over him. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “Sometimes I like to fight the old-fashioned way. Now, you just stay real still, Beau, or I just might have to hurt you. You hear me?”
“I hear you, you bastard. I want my lawyer.”
Katie, her SIG Sauer still in her hand, walked slowly up onto the porch. She looked down at the man who probably would have killed her, killed Sam and Keely, without a dollop of remorse. She shoved her SIG back into the waistband of her jeans, lifted her booted foot and slammed it into his ribs.
“Here’s one for Sam and Keely,” she said, and kicked him again.
“That’s police brutality,” Beau said, gasping from the pain in his ribs. “I’m gonna sue your ass off!”
“Nah, you’re not,” she said. “You’re in the backwoods now, Beau, and do you know what that means?”
“You marry your brother.”
“No, it means you’ll marry my brother, if I want you to.”
Dillon Savich was laughing as he looked at the bedraggled woman, hair hanging down, pulled free from her ponytail, her mouth pale from cold. “Sheriff Benedict, I presume?”
“Yes,” she said, already looking around for Sam and Keely.
“I’m Agent Savich. A pleasure, ma’am. You like excitement, don’t you?”
“What I liked best in all of this was the sound of your voice and sight of your face, Agent Savich. Those were some cool moves you made to take down old Beau.”
“I tripped, dammit!”
“Yeah, right,” Katie said, and looked toward the van again. Clancy was still out of it. She was on the point of going over and pulling him out when Sam shouted “Papa!”
“Mama!”
She heard a man yell “Sam!”
“Mr. Kettering?”
“Yes, that’s Miles. I ordered him on pain of death and dismemberment to stay back. And here’s your little girl, ma’am.”
Keely was wet to the bone, her flannel pajamas plastered to her, her hair hanging in her eyes. Ka
tie swept her up into her arms and held her so tight the little girl squeaked.
“Keely got me, Papa! Keely woke me up and opened the window in my room to fool Beau and Clancy, then we went out the window in her bedroom. We’ve been hiding just over there, behind that tree. I recognized Beau and knew we had to stay hidden. Did you see Uncle Dillon? He kicked the crap out of skinny old Beau!”
Uncle Dillon? Katie smiled, kissed her daughter’s wet hair, and called out, “You wet as Keely, Sam?”
“I’m wetter than a frog buried under a lily pad.”
She saw Sam’s smile before she saw the rest of his face. He was being carried by a big man who was as wet as he was, and who was smiling even bigger than his boy. She liked the looks of him, liked the way he held his boy.
Miles carried Sam up onto the front porch. He saw Beau lying on his back, not even twitching, and he handed Sam to Savich.
He went down on his hands and knees, closed his fist around Beau’s shirt collar, and jerked him up. “Hello, you miserable scum.”
“Get off me, you bastard!”
“Oh, I’m lots more than a bastard. I’m your worst nightmare, Beau. I’m meaner than the man who just kicked your ass. I’m Sam’s father and do you have any idea what I want to do to you?”
“Get him away from me!”
“Oh, no,” Savich said, Sam now hanging about his neck, held real close. “You deserve whatever he wants to do to you. If he wants to, he can kick your tonsils out the back of your neck.”
Miles Kettering pulled Beau to his feet and sent his fist into his jaw. Beau went down and stayed down.
Miles gave him one more dispassionate look, then turned to take Sam from Savich.
“You walloped him good, Papa,” Sam said, and he patted his father’s face, dark with five o’clock shadow. “Can I hit him, too?”
“Nah, he’s had enough. You just stay real close to me until I get over being so scared.”
Sam hugged his father’s neck, really hard. “This is Katie, Papa. She helped me a whole lot.”
Blindside f-8 Page 5
