What could she do? What could anyone do at this point except wait and pray? Especially pray, Samantha thought, afraid to close her eyes long enough for even the shortest plea.
Finally, she simply stared at the bare rafters, listened to the rain starting to hammer on the tin roof, and let her heart call out to her heavenly Father with all the anguish she was feeling.
Please, please, Lord, she pleaded, barely able to string words together into a rational sentence. Help us.
The picture in her mind was of John Waltham coming to their rescue like a knight in shining armor mounted on a white horse.
Instead, a gust of wind suddenly caught the cabin door. Sheets of water blew halfway across the unvarnished plank floor, turning a wide swath of it dark.
Both men jumped to their feet, one rushing to close the door and the other pointing his nasty-looking rifle into the opening.
John? Could it be?
Samantha drew a quick breath, preparing to shout a warning.
Before she could call out, Lindy screamed and pressed the boy to her as if sheltering him from even worse danger than they already faced.
A drenched figure stepped into full view, his coat dripping, his light brown hair plastered to his head.
Samantha could hardly believe her eyes.
It was Ben Southerland.
* * *
Staying low as he worked his way closer, John thought he heard a woman’s high-pitched wail. He froze, listening. Thanks to the storm he was not only getting soaked, he was unable to get an accurate bearing on the noise. It hadn’t sounded like Sam’s voice but given this complicated situation, there was no way to be certain.
Except to keep going until I can see for myself, he added, stepping forward cautiously. He now had the front of a small cabin in sight. Light streamed from the open front door. Someone was silhouetted on the porch.
John pressed his back to the trunk of a broad oak and peeked around. The figure he’d seen was now entering.
The door closed, leaving John in the dark except when a new bolt of lightning flashed and momentarily showed him the way.
“Where are you, Samantha?” he whispered before turning his attention to God. “Where is she? What should I do?”
No booming voice echoed from heaven but he did give thanks for the temporary beacons the storm was providing. It would have been nicer if he could have controlled their light, yet under the circumstances he was grateful for small favors.
The last few strides from the trees to the side of the cabin meant crossing open ground. He scoped out a clear path during a flash, then made the short journey from memory as soon as darkness once again covered his movements.
Breathless, he pressed his back to the rough log wall and fought to control his galloping heartbeat. From that position he could hear snatches of conversation inside the cabin. Most sounded masculine. Nevertheless, it was likely that the building contained at least some of the hostages, if not all of them.
“I didn’t double-cross anybody,” one man said, his voice rising in panic. “I swear it. I don’t know how you guys got that idea.”
“Then where’s the money you stole?”
“I didn’t steal anything. I don’t have the account numbers on me right now but all the money you gave me is safe. You need to tell your bosses that. I wasn’t hiding anything. I got myself into a little scrape and had to lay low for a while, that’s all.”
“Some little scrape. Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to mess with cops? Of all the people to assault, why pick him?”
“I didn’t mean to do it. The guy grabbed my son and I didn’t stop to think. It was an accident. After he went down, I guess I lost it. I ran.”
With my loaded Glock, John added, positive he now knew the identity of at least one of the occupants of the cabin. What did you do with it, Ben? Do you still have it? Do you know how to use it? Would you?
Those questions, although important, were moot until John figured out who else was present.
He edged his way around the side of the building to a small window and slowly straightened.
Lightning flashed. John ducked. At the instant he’d glimpsed Samantha and the Southerlands, it had looked as if one of the occupants of the cabin had been staring right at him! Had he actually been seen? Only time would tell.
Pressed against the side of the cabin he counted the passing seconds. The door in front opened, casting steady light onto the trees directly across the small clearing.
Footsteps thudded on the wooden porch floor.
John tensed. He could hear at least one man approaching but had no idea where any others might have gone. Were more coming? Or had they stayed behind to guard the prisoners?
Another lightning bolt painted John’s whole body. It might as well have been the laser sight on a sniper rifle. He saw a shadowy figure swing around.
Instinct made him dive out of the way an instant before a rifle barked. A bullet smashed into the log where his head had been, sending splinters flying.
More shots followed. He was already around the other side of the cabin and heading for the open door when a second gun echoed. John froze. Was that shot inside? It sure sounded like it.
Staying low, he scrambled through the doorway, fearing the worst. Someone shot at him. He instinctively returned fire and saw a hefty man stagger, then collapse.
The moment his eyes met Samantha’s and he realized she was unhurt in spite of all the gunfire, he felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.
A momentary pause to take in the rest of the scene was his undoing.
Sam screamed and pointed. “Look out!”
He started to turn. Something caught him in midmotion and crashed against the back of his head.
Pain! Intense. Blinding. Numbing.
His legs gave out and he crumpled, facedown.
The thud of his body hitting the floor was his last conscious sensation.
* * *
Sam gasped. Seeing John knocked out for the second time in as many weeks stunned her, but it was the sharp, cracking sound when the butt of the rifle had connected with his head that was the most ominous. This was no simple faint following a blow. He could easily have been hit hard enough to have fractured his skull. Fatally.
She lunged toward him and was thrown aside by the second kidnapper when he bent to disarm the unconscious officer. Eyes wide, she braced her hands against the floor and stared, watching as the gunman came to the realization that his partner had been shot.
“What the…” His rifle barrel drew an arc leading to the Southerland family. They had huddled together in a corner while Sam had been attempting to go to John’s aid.
The abductor kept his weapon trained on the captives as he knelt beside his cohort. “What happened? Did they jump you?”
“No,” the wounded man rasped. “He’s got…”
Samantha burst into a series of loud laments, trying to keep the injured man from revealing the full truth.
“See what you’ve done?” she screeched. “Now what? Huh? This man needs medical attention. Do something! Hurry!”
“You’re a nurse. Get over here and take care of him.”
“Not him!” she shouted, pointing to John. “Him!”
Behind her, she saw Ben Southerland make a subtle shift in his position. There was still one gun the kidnappers didn’t know about; one weapon she might be able to count on in a fight. That wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.
“I don’t care what happens to anybody else,” the armed man said flatly. “Take care of my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah. He ain’t too bright but he’s kin. Now move.”
“I’ll need bandages and disinfectant
and…”
The flash of feral anger in the man’s eyes told her she’d pushed him too far. Cautiously getting to her feet, she raised her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”
The older sibling picked up the other’s pistol, tucked it into his belt next to the one he’d just taken from John, and stood back to give her room to work.
Samantha knelt next to her patient as he gave a shudder. His full exhalation strongly hinted that any efforts at this point, no matter how heroic, would be futile. Nevertheless, she checked for a carotid pulse. There was none.
So, what would the survivor do when he realized his brother had passed away? she wondered silently. How long could she stall? How was she going to make him think there was still a chance of recovery?
At best, she figured she might be able to fool everybody for a couple more minutes.
She leaned over the dead man and pretended to be staunching the flow of blood from his shoulder wound so she could peek sideways at the other prisoners.
Lindy and Danny were still crouched in the corner, locked in a tight embrace. Ben, however, had worked his way off to one side. Was he planning to fire again? Did he know what he was doing? His first shot had gone wild and if it hadn’t been for John’s timely arrival they might all have been killed as a result of Ben’s feeble attempt at retribution.
“John. Wake up,” she whispered.
Although he lay only a few feet from her, he made no response. The only movement that gave her hope was the steady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. As long as that continued it would help her believe that he’d survive.
“Forget him,” the armed man ordered. “How is my brother doing? He’s not moanin’ like he was.”
“He’s resting,” Samantha said. She tried to keep her tone even and hide her fear. Apparently, she was not successful because the remaining gunman leaned over her to get a better look.
She heard him stifle a sob. Then, he staggered backward. “He’s dead.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, meaning every word. “The bullet struck him in a main artery in his shoulder. There was nothing anyone could have done. Not without an immediate transfusion, and even then…”
“Shut up!” He rubbed his eyes using his free hand and waved the rifle erratically with the other. “One of you killed him. I don’t care who it was. You’re all responsible so you’re all going to die.”
He pointed the gun at the mother and son cowering in the corner.
Samantha had been preparing to get to her feet. She faltered, dizzy, and wondered if she might faint for the first time in her life.
She nearly did so when he shouted, “Starting with the brat.”
SEVENTEEN
What happened next was over in a handful of heartbeats.
Samantha summoned her courage and poised to launch herself toward the gunman. She didn’t know what her actual intent was, she simply knew she had to do something to try to protect that child.
The bereaved kidnapper kept swiping wildly at his tear-filled eyes, apparently attempting to clear his vision so he could better pinpoint his targets.
John stirred and moaned at just the right time to offer a distraction.
The kidnapper whirled and braced himself for an attack, wasting no time once he realized that that particular adversary was still unconscious.
He grimaced as he swung the rifle around again and aimed it at the cringing little boy.
Sam saw Lindy lean forward to shield Danny with her body as best she could.
The kidnapper gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger.
Fire erupted from the end of the muzzle. The sharp crack inside the small space was deafening.
Everything blurred as Samantha screamed and lunged forward.
To her surprise, the only pain she felt when she landed was a smarting from the impact of her knees and elbows on the flooring.
Unbelieving, she took stock of herself. She hadn’t been shot! So what had happened?
She stared at the tableau spread before her. The assailant had fired, all right, but Danny remained unscathed.
Ben Southerland had made a wild dive in front of his family and had taken the bullet meant for the boy. Ben now lay at his wife’s feet. Blood was spreading from his wound, soaking through his shirt and pooling on the floor.
Lindy was reaching toward him when he gave a guttural, wordless roar. He raised his head. Faced the gunman. Lifted the stolen Glock in both hands and pulled the trigger for the second time that night.
Samantha was stunned as the bullet flew true and buried itself in the chest of the man who had been trying to kill the child.
The impact threw the target backward. His rifle flew from his grasp and landed off to the side, no longer a threat.
Samantha was at Ben’s side almost before the other man’s body hit the floor. She felt for his pulse, then rolled him gently so his face wouldn’t be visible to the survivors.
Her gaze met Lindy’s. “I’m sorry.”
The other woman sagged back against the wall as if her bones had suddenly vanished. That was when Sam noticed that Lindy, too, was wounded. The would-be assassin’s bullet had apparently passed through Ben and had grazed Lindy’s arm.
“Let me see that,” Sam ordered, slipping into her professional persona.
“No.” Lindy quickly assessed her whimpering, clinging son, then said, “Danny’s okay. That’s all that matters. You should tend to your partner. He needs you more than I do.”
There was no way Sam was going to argue with that conclusion, particularly since she’d been worried sick about John.
“Okay.” She glanced at the other woman’s discarded purse. “If you can manage okay, check to see if your cell phone works up here and try to call for help. If you get through, tell them we have an officer down and two wounded.”
“What about him?” Lindy pointed with a trembling finger. “Is he dead, too?”
“Yes. He took Ben’s bullet square in the chest and he’s not bleeding. That means his heart’s stopped. We don’t have to watch either of these guys anymore.”
“Okay.” She gave her son a weak smile. “Get Mommy her purse, will you, honey?”
Rather than try to stand when she knew her legs were too wobbly, Samantha crawled the short distance to John and pressed her fingertips against the side of his neck.
She drew a ragged breath and thanked God. Pulse strong, respirations even and deep.
As much as she longed to roll him over onto his back, cradle him in her arms and tell him how much she loved him, she knew better. For his own good he’d have to remain perfectly still until help arrived, unless there was a worsening of his condition.
That sensible conclusion made her smile through tears of relief. Being a nurse was an advantage in most situations but right now she wished she were less aware of correct medical procedures and freer to react to the urgings of her heart.
Placing one hand lightly on his shoulder she continued to monitor his vital signs and silently give thanks for their survival. Everything had happened so fast she was still reeling.
Her hand gently stroked John’s upper arm through his rain-soaked sleeve as she watched the steady rise and fall of his breathing. God was good. Life was good—and promising to get better.
Across the room, Lindy was saying, “That’s right. In the mountains. Hold on a second.” She covered the phone with her hand. “They want to know if you still have the tracking device on you?”
Sam blushed. “I must. It was hidden in my purse and that’s right here.”
“Okay,” Lindy told the police. “Just follow the signal from whatever it was you gave Samantha Rochard. That should lead you straight to us.” Her brow was furrowed. “Yes. We’ll be right here waiting for
you. We wouldn’t think of leaving.”
“I did it for Danny’s sake,” Sam insisted as soon as Lindy laid the phone aside.
Although the injured woman winced when she moved, she did manage a wan smile. “I know you did. It was the right thing to do. I’m just glad I didn’t know about it beforehand.”
Pulling her sniffling child close again she held him, kissed him and stroked his hair. “We don’t know how to thank you, do we, Danny?”
Samantha knew that the dreadful reality of her situation would hit the new widow soon and erase her smile. Once that happened, Lindy was liable to go into shock, which could be more dangerous than her wound, so it would be best to keep her focused on other things for as long as possible.
“Why don’t the two of you come over here with me?” Sam suggested, meaning to remove them from proximity to Ben’s body.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay right here for a few more minutes,” Lindy said with surprising calm. “We want to say goodbye.”
When Samantha saw her begin to speak privately to her son while gazing at the prone figure of the man who had given his life for them, she was in awe. Ben Southerland had been the kind of short-tempered, abusive husband who gave all men a bad name, yet he had come through like a real hero when it had counted.
Sam let tears of sympathy stream down her cheeks without embarrassment. There was good in even the worst people, wasn’t there? Above all, she hoped that Danny was able to remember that the last thing his daddy had done for him had shown his love.
* * *
John stirred. Moaned. Were those sirens he was hearing in the background? He sure hoped he wasn’t dreaming.
His eyelids felt leaden, his ears buzzed. Forcing his eyes open he saw a rough, stained, plank floor and began to recall glimmers of the events that had landed him there. In the deep reaches of his consciousness he thought he remembered hearing shots fired.
Anxious, he started to push himself up, preparing to do battle again if necessary and wondering what had become of the weapon he’d had when he’d burst into the cabin.
Samantha restrained him. “Hold on, mister. You need to lie still. There’s no danger anymore.”
Threat of Darkness Page 17
