All The Stars In Heaven

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Though his eyes were covered, they started to water and burn. Whatever they were doing in here was bad, and he was starting to fear the outcome. He opened the door to the basement, only too happy to head downstairs. He’d just made it to the bottom when Christa called him.

  “Jay, come quick.”

  Startled by her abrupt order, his heart hammered in his chest. Something’s happened to Archer, he thought as he retraced his steps. Or the police are here.

  “What is it?” Jay asked as he entered the kitchen.

  Sarah had towels draped across her shoulders and curlers in her hair. Christa leaned over the table, looking pale and terrified. “James . . .” she said. “This was on the porch.” A crumpled sheet of paper shook in her hands.

  Jay took it, exchanging a confused look with Sarah, who stood and put her arm around Christa. He flattened the paper and read the handwritten note aloud.

  We’ll trade. Sarah for the boy. You have five minutes. Make sure she comes alone.

  He glanced at Sarah and saw his own shock reflected on her face. He ran through the living room, parting the blinds to look out front. A dark sedan was parked across the street. A man squatted beside it, talking with James.

  “My baby,” Christa whispered. “What do I do?”

  “Just what he asked,” Sarah said, coming into the room, removing the towels. She pulled her sneakers from the basket. “Is Kirk’s gun here?”

  Christa nodded. “He has several. They’re all locked up.”

  “Can you get to them?” Sarah asked.

  Christa nodded.

  “I need something small enough to fit in my coat pocket. A nine millimeter would be good. Make sure it’s loaded.” Sarah bent over, curlers clicking as she pushed her foot in to the sneaker.

  “You can’t go out there,” Jay said. “They’ll—”

  “Take James if I don’t,” Sarah finished. “Go,” she ordered Christa, who hesitated in the hallway. Christa ran toward the bedroom. Sarah shoved her foot in to the other shoe, tied the laces, and stood to face Jay. “I don’t have a choice. Mrs. Larson is dead. Archer was shot. You were almost killed. None of this ever would have happened if I hadn’t left home.” Her voice caught. She turned away, taking her coat from the rack. “He’s a helpless little boy.”

  Jay helped her into the coat. He turned her to face him and pulled her close. “It’s not your fault. None of it.” He held her tight.

  She buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

  Christa returned, a gun in her hand. “This is the smallest.”

  Sarah stepped back from Jay’s embrace, wiped at her eyes, and reached for the pistol. “A Ruger P90; that’ll work.”

  “You—uh—know guns?” Jay said.

  “A little.” Sarah chambered a round and flipped off the safety. She put the gun in the right pocket of her coat, and a tremulous smile formed on her lips.

  “Trust me.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Christa, call the police,” Jay said.

  “I already have.”

  “Then I really have to get out there.” Feeling a heightened sense of urgency, Sarah reached for the door. “If the police show up before I cross the street, he’ll take James.”

  Jay put his hand over hers. “I’m coming too.”

  “You’d only be a liability. It’s me they want.” She opened the door and stepped outside.

  Jay followed. “There’s no way I’m letting you go over there by yourself.”

  She turned around to face him. “You don’t have a choice.” She looked over his shoulder at Christa, who hovered in the doorway, tears streaking down her face. “Keep him here. Or James won’t be safe.”

  Christa put her hand on Jay’s arm. “Please let her get him,” she begged. “Then you can go.”

  “Then may be too late,” Jay said, but he allowed Christa to pull him back into the house.

  “Thank you,” Christa called just before closing the door.

  Don’t thank me yet. Head held high and wobbly from all the curlers, Sarah walked across the street, zipping up her coat.

  The man next to James straightened, and his eyes zeroed in on hers. At the house behind him, another child was being picked up from the party. Sarah slowed her walk, angling herself toward James. When she was halfway across the street and the mother and child had safely pulled away from the curb, she called out, “Send him home now.”

  The man snickered. “You think I’m stupid?”

  Sarah kept walking while at least part of her brain acknowledged that her sudden courage was being fueled by anger. That was stupid—and dangerous.

  With hurried steps she reached James’s side. She knelt, pulling him forward in a hug. “It’s all right. You go home now—run.”

  James tried to move, but the man still held his coat tight.

  “I’m here,” Sarah said. “Let him go.”

  The man’s gaze flickered behind her for half a second before releasing James, who took off as fast as his trembling three-year-old legs would go.

  “Stand up and get in the car.”

  Sarah started to rise, then fell backward, pretending to slip in the icy street. The man swore under his breath and reached for her.

  Sarah recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, looking up at him with hatred in her eyes. “I can get up myself.” She twisted to the side, crossing her legs, bracing her right hand on the street as she got up. There was no need to exaggerate her slow, awkward movements. Her arm was still badly bruised.

  Rising sideways to the man, she put her left hand on the car hood when she was about three-fourths of the way up and her footing was sure. Her right hand slid into her pocket. It rested on the gun for a fraction of a second, then curled around the smaller object beside it. Pulling her pepper spray out, she turned on him, pushing the canister down with all her might.

  He yelped, one hand going to his eyes, the other reaching out for the spray. Before he could grab it, Sarah whirled around—and ran straight into the barrel of a mini UZI. The same guy who’d accosted her in the alley stared down at her. She shuddered and stepped back, trying not to look at his face, which was covered with deep scratches—marks no doubt made by her fingernails.

  Always watch your back. Good advice. Too bad she hadn’t followed it.

  “Clever, aren’t you, beauty queen?” His mouth curved upward as he appraised her.

  Sarah couldn’t tell whether he was more amused by her curlers or her attempt with the spray. Behind her, his partner was still holding his eyes and cursing.

  “Get in the car, Sid,” the machine-gun guy ordered. To Sarah he said, “We can do this easy, or I can go across the street and get the kid again. Or, there’s plenty of kids in that house right there.” He nodded toward the home where the party had been.

  Sarah glanced at it and saw the trio of snowmen built in the front yard.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want company.” Any time now, she thought, wondering what was taking the police so long. And she’d been worried they’d get here too fast.

  “Hand over the pepper spray.”

  Sarah dropped it, then kicked it under the car. Never give your weapon to your enemy. If you’re forced to surrender it, drop it or throw it away. Don’t give them one more thing to use against you. Her dad was starting to make a lot of sense. Sid would, no doubt, have loved the chance to get her back. She forced her lips into a thin line as she looked at machine-gun guy’s scratched face again.

  “Get in back behind the driver’s seat,” he ordered.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Boss wants to chat with you. Otherwise I’d take care of things right here. You’ve been enough trouble.”

  They call him Boss? Her anger flared again. “My dad needs to learn to use the phone if he wants to talk to me.”

  The man snickered. “Your dad’s as much the boss as I’m the president of the United States.” He nudged her with the gun.

  Sarah moved
carefully in front of him, internalizing what he’d said. If her dad wasn’t in charge of Carl and these thugs, who was? A ripple of fear went down her spine. She reached the car door and hesitated. Never, ever get in a car with a stranger.

  “Open the door,” he ordered.

  Unless he has a machine gun at your back and there are kids around? Does that count? She pulled on the handle, plan B forming in her mind as she set one foot inside the car.

  “Sarah!”

  Jay. Oh, no.

  Her abductor pushed down on her head, trying to shove her into the back seat. Her scalp tingled as the hundreds of hairs wound in the perm rods pulled. She kept one foot outside the car.

  “Hey, wait!” Through the tinted glass she saw Jay charging down the walk, waving his hands. Her abductor turned away, gun trained on Jay.

  No—not again. Sarah threw her strength into pushing the door open. Her abductor lurched forward, and she jumped from the car. His gun was still aimed at Jay, who had reached the far curb.

  “Get in or I kill him,” he said.

  The wail of a siren pierced the air, distracting the man for the half second Sarah needed to get her finger around the pistol in her pocket and pull the trigger.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Sarah dropped to the ground and rolled behind the car. She wasn’t sure if she’d hit anything but knew it wasn’t wise to hang around to find out. The sirens grew closer. The engine started suddenly, releasing a puff of exhaust. Coughing, she crawled up on the sidewalk to avoid being backed over. Looking up, she saw Sid’s face in the passenger mirror. His bloodshot eyes met hers for a second before the car took off. A cruiser screamed around the corner, on its heels.

  Sarah jumped up. “Go!” she shouted to Jay, shooing him toward the house. The cruiser slammed on the brakes, stopping at her side of the road. Sarah looked over and saw Kirk’s face, as wild and anxious as Christa’s had been. She pulled open the passenger door.

  “James?”

  “Safe,” Sarah gasped. “In the house.”

  Kirk whipped his head around to the back seat. “Get Jeffrey out.”

  Sarah closed the front door, opened the back, and pulled Jeffrey from the car. She’d barely closed the door when Kirk sped off. A few neighbors had come outside to see what the commotion was. Keeping her head down, Sarah carried Jeffrey across the street, into the house.

  Christa sat in the rocker holding James, tears streaming down both their cheeks. “Thank you,” she said to Sarah. “Thank you for saving my baby.”

  Sarah turned away. Thanks was the last thing she deserved when all of this was her fault. Leaving them, she went through the kitchen and downstairs, carefully locking the door behind her so the boys couldn’t come in.

  Jay was waiting for her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “Nice shot.”

  “Did I hit something?” Sarah asked.

  “His hand, I think, and the side mirror. Ought to make driving interesting.”

  “When he got in the car, I was going to—shoot him from behind.” Sarah felt her stomach roil and a cold sweat break out across her forehead. The terrible realization of what she might have done—what she wasn’t sure she could do at all—hit hard.

  Jay’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve got a bit of a violent streak I wasn’t aware of.”

  She forced a weak laugh. “Desperate times.”

  “Desperate measures,” he finished.

  “Speaking of which,” Sarah said, “making yourself a target wasn’t exactly smart.”

  “Bulletproof vest.” He leaned over, picking it up off the floor.

  “Okay, not quite as stupid as I thought. But you could have been shot in the head or—”

  “Why do you think I was running around?” Jay asked. “Moving targets are harder to hit.”

  “He had an UZI,” Sarah said.

  “Oh.” Their banter ceased suddenly, and Jay pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I know,” Jay said. “Just the same. Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I won’t.” She adjusted her head to a more comfortable position, and they stayed in their embrace, waiting as they listened to more sirens outside and footsteps on the floor above.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, a knock on the door startled them both. Jay was the first to get up off the floor where he and Sarah had been sitting. He held his good hand out, helping Sarah up.

  “The timer went off.” It was Christa’s voice. “We’ve got to rinse your hair.”

  Sarah opened the door. Christa stood on the bottom step, her red, puffy face beaming with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  “Is James all right?” Sarah asked.

  Christa nodded. “He’s napping now, and Jeffrey is watching a movie in my room. They’re fine. Kirk’s outside talking to some Cambridge officers. They didn’t catch the car.”

  “How about you?” Jay asked, coming up behind Sarah. “How is Mom doing?”

  “Don’t ask.” Christa attempted a smile. “You should stay down here a while longer. The officers will want to talk with Sarah and me.” She started up the stairs. “Come on. We need to hurry. I have an idea how we can hide your face.”

  “I’ll be in the food storage suite if you need me,” Jay said, closing the door behind them.

  Sarah followed Christa to the sink and leaned her head over, grimacing as the rods pulled at her scalp.

  “Sorry,” Christa apologized. “This is the worst part.”

  “You said that when you put the solution on,” Sarah reminded her.

  “That’s usually true, but when the police come in I’m going to have you stay here. We’ll keep a towel over your face—to protect your eyes—and I’ll remove the curlers very slowly. You’ll be able to talk and answer questions, but the officers won’t see your face.”

  “What do I tell them?” Sarah asked.

  “Stick as close to the truth as possible; tell them you were trying to prevent a kidnapping,” Christa advised. “But don’t use your real name.”

  “What about the note?” Sarah asked.

  “If we show that to them, it will give you away.” Christa handed Sarah a towel and unrolled the first rod.

  “Jay and I can’t stay here anymore,” Sarah said. “We’re too big a risk for your family.”

  “It’s too big a risk for all of us.” Christa sighed as she glanced out to the living room where the Christmas tree stood. “We all have to leave.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Jay stretched out on the air mattress, his attempt at a nap cut short by the consistent thuds coming from the floor above—the cowboys were back in action. Jay wondered why it was that children seemed to have inexhaustible sources of energy as well as the ability to rebound quickly after a crisis. When he thought of James and then Sarah outside with those men this morning, he felt helpless, terrified, and angry all over again. But James, at least, sounded like he was well on his way to recovering from the ordeal.

  Jay rolled to his good side and glanced at the travel clock on the floor. 2:36. What in the world is she still doing up there? He’d heard the police come and go, but no one had come downstairs to tell him what happened. He worried about that and about Sarah’s hair. What could possibly be taking so long? She was under a lot of stress right now, and he didn’t think doing something extreme would help. He tried not to think of her pretty blond hair falling to the floor in foot-long pieces. Jay rolled to his back again. It’s her hair, her life, he reminded himself. Trouble was, he wanted it to be their life. Maybe someday . . .

  A quiet knock sounded at the bedroom door. Jay tensed, then listened as the rhythmic pounding upstairs continued. Thump, thump. Thump, thump—Jeffrey. Thump, thump. Thud—James tripping and falling to the floor in his too-large cowboy boots. Yep. They’re both still up there.

  “Jay?” The door opened a crack. “Are you aw
ake?”

  He sat up too fast, wincing as the pain in his back reminded him that he’d not only been shot but had spent the better part of the past two days on an air mattress with at least a couple of leaks.

  “I’m up. Come in.”

  The door opened and Sarah stood in the doorway, a shy, uncertain smile on her face.

  “Wow,” Jay said, his eyes goggling as he struggled to get up off the floor. “Come here.”

  She stepped into the room.

  He braced himself on the buckets of wheat and stood, heart thumping loudly as he took in her appearance. All thoughts of kidnappers and police fled as he gazed at the soft blond curls that framed her face and fell just above her shoulders. Her eyes, free of glasses now that she had her new contacts, seemed bigger and bluer than usual—and after a second Jay realized it was because she was wearing makeup for the first time that he could remember. It wasn’t a lot. But a natural pink tinged her cheeks, matching the inviting shimmer on her lips.

  Her lips. Man, I want to kiss her.

  She’d changed clothes too, and wore a plain, white t-shirt with a pair of form-fitting jeans. Bare feet with painted toenails peeked out from beneath the denim.

  “You look—great.” Great was an understatement for the transformation. There had to be a better word. He wracked his brain for it. Beautiful—obviously. Gorgeous—that too. Come-here-before-I-die-just-looking-at-you. Closer. Let-me-run-my-fingers-through-those-curls-and-taste-that-flavor-on-your-lips—yeah, that’s it.

  “Jay?” Sarah’s brow wrinkled with concern. “I did wake you. I’m sorry.” She started to back out of the room.

  He caught her hand, pulling her closer and pushing the door shut behind them. “I’m plenty awake.” He lifted his free hand to her hair. “May I?”

  She nodded.

  He wrapped a curl around his finger. “Soft.” He leaned forward. “Smells good, too.”

  “Surprised?” Sarah asked.

  “Kind of. The smell upstairs worried me. What were you doing up there so long?”