A bad night to be out.
Surely, Tyrone wouldn’t be.
She tried to reassure herself, as she settled onto the living room chair and listened to news reports about the weather and the accident.
He wouldn’t be.
She sipped tea, wind howling outside the window.
Wouldn’t be.
No way.
Something scraped against the living room window, and she jumped, her heart racing as she slowly turned to look.
Nothing.
No face leering in at her from the darkness. No eyes glittering from behind the glass.
Her cell phone rang, and she grabbed it, desperate to talk to someone. Anyone.
“Hello.”
“You took something from me. I want it back.” The voice seemed to slide into the room, fill the space, steal Merry’s breath.
“Who is this?”
“You know who it is. You know what I want. You want the kid, have him. But I want what’s mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My girl gave it to you.”
“The money? You can have it. I haven’t spent—”
“Not the money. The other thing she gave you. You give it back to me. I let you live. You keep playing games, keep pretending you don’t know what you’ve got, and you die. Tonight. And the boy? He just might die, too.” He disconnected, the dial tone ringing in Merry’s ear for several seconds before she realized he’d hung up.
How had he gotten her number?
She pictured her trashed house, papers and bills strewn everywhere. He’d been in her house before she and Douglas arrived. Found the number on an old bill.
Called her.
From where?
Boston?
Her place?
Right outside the window?
Fear clawed its way up her throat, stealing her voice as she called Douglas.
“Hello?” His deep baritone filled her ear, and she forced words past the terror.
“It’s Merry.”
“Good. I was about to call you. Dad said he got called out to an accident, and I want to—”
“He called me. Tyrone Rodriguez. He called. He said I have something of his, and he wants it back.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“He didn’t give me a name, but he said I could keep the kid, and he said that his girl gave me whatever he thinks I have. It has to be—”
“Stay put. Do not open the door for anyone. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I—”
But he was gone, and she shoved the phone back into her pocket, turned off the television and the living room light. Listened to the howling wind, the creaking house, her erratic heartbeat.
She needed to find a weapon. Something that she could defend herself and Tyler with if Tyrone showed up.
Most of the Fitzgeralds were police officers. There must be a gun in the house somewhere.
Only she wasn’t sure how to use a gun. Didn’t know how to load one. Wasn’t sure she could fire one even if she managed to get it loaded.
No. A gun was out. She needed something that didn’t need instructions and training and a few years of target practice.
She ran into the kitchen, searched the drawers until she found a steak knife, her hand shaking as she lifted it.
Please, God, don’t let me have to use this.
Something banged against the back door, and Merry jumped, her pulse racing, adrenaline pumping, every nightmare she’d ever had about to come true.
Let it be the wind, Lord. Please, just the wind.
She crept to the door, pressed her head against the wood, heard nothing but her pulse slushing in her ears and the endless howling of the wind.
A minute passed, and she was sure she’d been mistaken. Sure that there was nothing outside but a raging winter storm.
Please, just let it be the storm.
Bang!
The door vibrated with the force of the blow, and she fell back, the knife dropping from her hand.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Don’t drop the knife just as he comes crashing through the door.
She scrambled to retrieve it, sliding across the floor on her knees, grabbing the knife as the lights went out and the room plunged into darkness.
Was Tyrone trying to turn off the alarm?
Had he succeeded?
It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but protecting Tyler.
She backed away from the door, her heart thudding painfully, the wind howling, the house rattling, the nightmare standing right outside the door.
Please, God, get Douglas here quickly.
Crash!
The door flew open, snow flying in Merry’s face, the shrieking alarm covering the sound of her terrified scream.
A shadow moved through the doorway, darkness hiding his face, but she knew who he was, couldn’t stop her body from shaking in response.
She lifted the knife as he lunged toward her, tried to plunge it down, to stop him before he made it to the stairs and Tyler, but he grabbed her wrist, twisted so brutally, the knife dropped from her numb fingers.
She screamed in pain, in fear, and he twisted harder, shoving her into the wall.
“Where is it?” he shouted in her ear, his hot breath making her skin crawl.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” He slammed her into the wall again, and she felt herself slipping away.
Tyler.
His name anchored her to consciousness, and she smashed down on Tyrone’s foot, tried to break free of his brutal grip.
“Stop fighting and give me what I want. Either that or die.” He pressed something cold to her head.
Something hard.
A gun!
He had a gun.
He’d use it. She knew he would. Even if she hadn’t known he’d killed before, she would have been able to hear the intention in his icy tone, feel it in his taut muscles.
I’ll be there in ten minutes.
Douglas’s words filtered through the terror.
Ten minutes.
At least four had passed.
Six more minutes and help would arrive.
She just had to stay alive until then.
She threw herself backward, slammed her foot down on Tyrone’s instep again. He cursed, shoving her away with so much force she bounced off the wall, her head hitting the corner of a cabinet.
She fell hard, her injured wrist snapping as it took the full force of her weight.
She saw stars, knew she couldn’t hold on to consciousness.
But somewhere, Tyler screamed, his terrified cries barely audible beneath the high-pitched screech of the alarm.
She had to get to him.
Had to protect him.
“I said give me my stuff!” Tyrone dragged her to her feet, his face so close she could see it through the darkness, smell the stale tobacco on his breath.
“I don’t have anything of yours.”
“You do. And you got one more minute to hand it over. You don’t, and you die. And after I’m done with you, I’m going to take care of the kid.”
“He’s your son!”
“And hers. The witch stole from me. You think I can allow that?” He shook her, slamming her into the wall so violently the breath left her lungs.
“I—”
“Shut up! We don’t have time to talk. Show me where you put the book.”
“What book?”
He backhanded her, and she saw stars, taste
d blood.
“You think this is a game, lady? I’ve spent four years looking for you. Went through a lot of trouble to track you down. A lot of trouble. Nikki said she gave you the journal and the directions to my stuff are in it. I figure what a woman says when she’s got a gun pressed to her head is the truth. So, tell me. Where’s the book?” He pressed the cold barrel of the gun to her temple.
Stall him.
Tell him something that will keep him from pulling the trigger.
Once you’re dead, there will be no one to protect Tyler.
Tell him something.
Tell him.
“It’s in my purse.” The words tripped off her tongue, thick and heavy with fear.
“Where is it?”
“Uh…in the living room.” She couldn’t bring him upstairs. Couldn’t lead him to her screaming son.
“Let’s go.” He shoved her, and she fell, sliding across the floor, her right hand and arm useless.
“Get. Up!” He grabbed her hair, yanked her to her feet, dragged her out of the kitchen and down the hall.
“My Mommy! Where are you, My Mommy?” Tyler shrieked from the top of the stairs.
My Mommy.
Tyler’s code words for I’m scared. Come and get me.
But she couldn’t go to him. Couldn’t take him in her arms and whisper in his ear and tell him that everything was going to be okay. Couldn’t smooth his thick hair, wipe tears from his cheeks. Couldn’t. And that hurt more than her throbbing wrist or her aching head. Hurt worse than any physical pain ever could.
Her son needed her.
She couldn’t help him.
All she could do was lead Tyrone past the staircase and into the living room, Tyler’s frantic cries stabbing holes in her heart.
If she died, he would die. If she died, all the things she’d wanted for him would cease to matter. She’d never know how it all would have turned out. What kind of man Tyler would have grown into. What kind of mother she would have become as years turned into decades.
If she died, she’d leave her life just when it seemed like she could start living it again. Just when she’d started to believe that there’d be a happy ending to the story that had begun the day Nicole walked into her classroom in Boston.
If she died all the things she’d seen in Douglas’s eyes, all the dreams she’d begun to dream again…they’d die with her.
So, she wouldn’t die.
It was as simple as that.
She would not die.
She wrapped the thought up tight in her heart as she walked through the living room and pretended to search for her purse.
NINETEEN
“Slow down, Douglas. You’re going to get us both killed. Then what will happen to Merry and Tyler?” Keira’s voice penetrated the fog of Douglas’s terror, and he eased up on the gas.
She was right.
Conditions were terrible, the nor’easter howling its fury as it blew snow across icy pavement.
But he didn’t want to slow down. Didn’t want to spend even one extra minute trying to get to his father’s house safely. His brother Owen had called a few minutes ago to report that the alarm system at their father’s house had been triggered.
Which meant Tyrone had gotten in.
“Dear God, please don’t let him hurt Merry and her son,” Keira prayed out loud, and Douglas stepped on the gas again.
Stepped down hard, taking the turn onto his father’s street a little too quickly. The SUV slid, and he righted it, turning off his headlights as he drew closer to the house.
No sense letting Tyrone know they were coming or giving him a reason to kill Merry quickly.
If he hasn’t already killed her.
He shoved the thought aside.
Refused to entertain it.
God had brought Merry into his life for a reason.
He didn’t believe it was so that he could watch her die.
He wouldn’t believe it.
The house was dark. Not a light on inside, and Douglas parked a few houses down. Turned off the engine, hopped out of the SUV.
“You’re not going to run in there without a plan.” Keira grabbed his arm, jerked him to a stop.
“I have a plan. Find Rodriguez and stop him.”
“I may be a rookie, but I know that’s not the kind of plan we need. If he’s in there, if Merry and Tyler are still alive—”
“They are,” he said with more venom than he intended.
“Then we can’t risk running in there without some idea of what we’re going to find and how we’re going to react.”
“I can tell you exactly how I’m going to react. I’m going to stop him. Just like I said.” But she was right. Running in without a plan was foolhardy. “Okay. Here’s what I want to do. I’ll go around back. You search the front. Look for his point of entry. We need to move in quiet and slow. If we spook him, he might kill Merry or Tyler.”
“And if I find the point of entry?”
He wanted to tell her to wait for him. Wanted to tell her to back off and let him handle it. She was his baby sister. The little girl he’d loved to tease, and who’d always laughed at his jokes.
But she was also a cop.
A rookie, but a crack shot.
She could handle herself, and he had to let her do it.
“Go in. Be careful, though. It’s dark, the alarm is screaming, we don’t want to shoot the wrong person.” He left her with that, racing around the side of the house, the wind hiding the sound of his feet as he probed the darkness, tried to find Tyrone’s point of entry.
There!
The back door hung open, banging into the wall again and again. He stepped inside the kitchen, the screaming alarm piercing his eardrums.
Go slow.
Take your time.
Don’t get yourself killed.
Don’t get Merry or Tyler killed.
Beneath the sound of the shrieking alarm, the muted cries of a child echoed rhythmically.
My Mommy. Mommy. My Mommy.
Over and over again.
Tyler’s cries, but no answer from Merry.
The thought of what that might mean speared his heart, twisted his gut.
Please, God, don’t let me be too late.
Douglas prayed frantically as he eased into the hallway, his gun out and ready. He made sure the foyer was clear. Walked toward the front door.
A gunshot exploded, and a woman screamed, the sound barely carrying above the alarm.
Douglas knew the voice. Heard the terror.
Merry.
Alive.
He ran into the living room, not caring about flying bullets. Not caring about anything but finding Merry.
Shadows writhed on the floor. Two people locked in a death roll. Too dark to see. Too risky to shoot.
“Police! Freeze!”
He tucked his gun back in its holster, dove into the chaos, grappling with Merry’s assailant.
Strong. Wiry.
“Die, cop.” Rodriguez shifted, and Douglas grabbed his wrist, feeling rather than seeing the gun he held.
“I don’t think so.” He slammed Rodriguez’s hand into the floor. Once. Twice. The gun clattered on hardwood and slid away.
Douglas grabbed it, pressed it to Rodriguez’s temple.
“Now are you going to freeze?” he panted, and Rodriguez went still.
The alarm cut off, the silence so abrupt, Douglas’s ears buzzed with it.
A light illuminated the hall and splashed into the living room, but Douglas didn’t look to see who’d turned it on. Didn’t dare turn his attention away from Tyrone until he was sure the gang
leader was under his control.
He wanted to slam his fist into the snarling face of Merry’s attacker but flipped him over instead, patting him down. “Do you have any other weapons on you?”
“I want a lawyer.”
“You’ll get one. Do you have any weapons?”
“Figure it out yourself, cop,” Tyrone spat, and Douglas slapped handcuffs on his wrists, read him his Miranda rights, then turned his attention to Merry.
She lay a few feet away, her wrist bent at an unnatural angle, her face deathly pale, blood seeping through her hair. He touched her neck, desperate to feel her pulse speeding beneath warm skin.
“I called for an ambulance. Is she okay?” Keira raced into the room, skidding to a stop near Rodriquez.
“I don’t know.” Despite her son’s still-frantic cries, she hadn’t moved, hadn’t opened her eyes. “Merry?”
Keira tugged Rodriguez to his feet, shoved him out the door, and Merry stirred, mumbled Tyler’s name.
“He’s okay.”
“I need to get him.” She brushed his hands away, stood, swaying, shaking, blood dripping down her head onto her shoulder.
No. Not onto her shoulder. From her shoulder onto the floor.
“You’ve been shot. You need to sit down before you fall down.” He put an arm around her waist, tried to lower her to the ground, but she shook her head.
“I’m okay. The bullet just grazed me.”
“And your wrist is broken. Your head is bleeding.”
“And my son is calling for me, and I’m not going to lie on the floor while he screams himself sick.” She took a step, her legs going out from under her, and Douglas lifted her, carried her from the living room into the hall, set her down on the bottom step.
“Mooooooommmmmmy!” Tyler screamed from the landing, the anguish in his voice tugging at Douglas’s heart.
“It’s okay, buddy. Everything is okay,” Douglas repeated as he climbed the steps toward Tyler.
He lifted the little boy, wiped tears from his face.
“Mommy. My Mommy. Where’s my mommy?” he sobbed, and Douglas carried him down the stairs, set him in Merry’s lap, then dropped down on the step behind her, supporting her back as she pulled Tyler close.
The Lawman's Legacy (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 17
