And if Arthur didn’t show, none of her sacrifice would even be worth it. They might catch Virgil and his men, but those guys were just one arm of the monster. They had to cut off the head.
Knowing they needed God’s help more than anything, Eric prayed Arthur would show and that the bad guys would be caught, every last one of them. And most of all, that Vanessa would be safe.
A small brown bird landed on the tree-stand railing, not a foot away from his face. Eric studied the little animal, reassured that it must not have seen him, to land so close.
It was a sparrow. Recognizing it, Eric was reminded of words from the Bible: “Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
Was the bird God’s way of reassuring him that everything was going to be okay? Eric tried to recall the context of the verse. Wasn’t it something about not fearing those who could kill you? Eric was nearly certain that was how the passage went, having heard it in church mere weeks before, but the verses were so eerily fitting. Was God telling him everything would be okay?
The tiny bird hopped half a turn and faced him; its twinkling eyes blinked and it cocked its head to one side, as if challenging his doubt.
“You are worth more than many sparrows.”
Adrenaline and caffeine pulsing through him, Eric was now more awake than he’d been all night. That much was good. His thoughts felt clear for the first time, too, as he prayed for God to wrap His protecting arms around Vanessa.
It was that thought—that image of God holding Vanessa safe in His arms, along with the reassurance of the Bible verse—that got to Eric in a new way. All night, he’d been reacting to the situation as it came to him, first recognizing Vanessa, then realizing she wasn’t the murderer Virgil claimed her to be, then helping her, trusting her, endangering himself for her safety.
But now, in the clarity of the morning light, in the midst of prayer, his thoughts weren’t reactionary anymore. He cared about Vanessa. He’d always cared about her. It had torn him apart when she’d gone missing. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? Her disappearance had cut him so deeply because he’d never had a chance to tell her how he felt about her.
And now, he realized, he still hadn’t told her.
For an instant, Eric debated jumping down from the tree stand, running up to the cabin and telling Vanessa how he felt. But a glint of light caught his eye—early-morning sunlight on the windshield of a moving car.
Two cars. The Land Rover, its tire replaced, and a BMW sedan.
They weren’t messing around, were they?
Vanessa stepped outside and stood on the porch, the CPU clutched to her chest. It disguised the presence of the bulky body armor she wore under her jacket—the only giveaway that she’d trusted the police enough to go to them, in spite of Virgil’s plot to drive her far from any means of help by branding her the murderer.
The morning breeze played with Vanessa’s hair, and the sunlight set her cheeks aglow. Eric knew she had to be terrified, but he also knew she’d do anything to keep her kids safe. Affection rose inside him. He had to tell her how he felt, just as soon as this was over.
The vehicles parked at odd angles, the Land Rover mostly in front of the sedan, and Virgil stepped out. Eric couldn’t make out his words from this distance, but the man held Vanessa’s attention.
Meanwhile, the back door of the sedan opened, out of sight from the cabin. Vanessa couldn’t see the man who crept out of the vehicle. Cold fear gripped Eric’s heart as he saw a man duck low, crouching just out of Vanessa’s sight, a gun clutched in his hand.
TEN
Vanessa focused on taking slow, deliberate steps through the cabin doorway, out onto the small porch. She was trembling so hard, they could probably see her fear from the car. From her years of being around these guys and Jeff, she knew their limits, knew they needed to feel respected and obeyed, or they’d snap.
Given the guns they carried, she didn’t want them to snap. But she also didn’t want to hand over the CPU until the FBI arrived. It might not take more than a couple of seconds for them to realize the slimline cover held books instead of a hard drive.
Virgil stared her down from his position near the vehicle. He wasn’t coming any closer—why not? Were they hoping she’d get so close they could pull her into the car? Or did he suspect she wasn’t truly alone? Virgil cleared his throat with a harsh sound. “You’re sure you didn’t make a copy of any of the information on the computer?”
“How would I even know how to do that? You guys have kept me locked in a basement for the last eight years.” Vanessa wanted to scream, but she kept her voice steady, watching Virgil’s hands, still far from the gun that seemed to wink at her from under his jacket every time Virgil moved his arms.
They surely had more guns, too. The vehicles had tinted windows, and the car was almost completely obscured by the SUV. She didn’t like it.
Most of all, she didn’t like that she couldn’t see any sign of Arthur Sherman. If he didn’t come, what was the point? If they didn’t catch him, she’d never be free, not really.
“What about your friend Eric? This is his cabin.”
“He didn’t want me to call you. He’s not here.” The words were all true. Eric had been quite against her calling Virgil, at least in the beginning. And he wasn’t technically at the cabin, but in the woods behind it, where she hoped he’d be safe.
“See, that’s what concerns me. You don’t know where he is, and I don’t know that he doesn’t have copies of everything on that computer. You’re about to hand it over to me—why?” Virgil took one step closer to the porch, then another.
“I want you to leave me and my kids alone.” Vanessa couldn’t help wondering why, if the criminals figured she’d made copies of the evidence already anyway, they’d bother to show up today. To get the computer back, obviously. And to get what answers they could from her. And then what? She couldn’t imagine they’d let her live once they had what they came for.
She raised her eyes just high enough to see past the Land Rover to the road beyond. Still no sign of the FBI. Virgil and his men had arrived precisely when they said they would. If the FBI was on time, they should get there any moment. Were they holding back, biding their time until just the right moment? Or were they running late?
Her heart rammed inside her ribs. Virgil’s smile was much too broad, his posture far too confident. They had no intention of letting her live, did they?
* * *
Eric watched the gunman creeping along the backside of the BMW sedan and wondered how accurate Vanessa’s grandfather’s old shotgun would be from that distance. Not nearly accurate enough, and Eric didn’t dare take a shot he wasn’t sure of making—he’d only tip off the traffickers to his presence and spark a shoot-out. Vanessa was vulnerable either way.
Still, Eric clenched his hands around the gun, taking aim, ready to act should the moment arise. Surely the feds would be arriving soon. He wanted the gunman gone.
His only consolation was that Deputy Abbott in the cabin would be able to see the gunman from her upstairs view. But there was still no sign of any vehicles approaching on the road, and from his perch, Eric could see for a couple of miles or more, before the hills blocked his view. And dust from vehicles approaching on the gravel country roads would be visible farther than that.
The FBI needed to get there soon. They’d said they’d be there. But even if they arrived in the next couple of minutes, would they be able to stop the gunman before he hurt Vanessa?
* * *
“Why don’t you hand me that computer?” Virgil stood to the side of the steps to the cabin’s small porch, little more than an arm’s reach away.
“Where is Arthur Sherman? I want to give it to him.” Vanessa scanned the vehicles. She could see figures inside, shadowy threats without features or faces. If Sherman didn’t show,
all her risks would be for nothing. She and her children would have to go into hiding and live in constant fear. Jeff had always claimed no one could hide from them—not even the witness protection program could save her.
And what would happen to Eric? By now, she knew her captors knew about him—that he’d bought the cabin she’d been supposed to inherit, that his Mustang had served as her getaway vehicle, his shotgun had taken out the Land Rover’s tires. Virgil had called him by name.
Would Eric be safe if Arthur Sherman wasn’t captured? She doubted it. Guilt plagued her. Eric had been so generous to help her. She hated that he’d gotten implicated because of her. But far worse than that, she hated that they hadn’t had more time together. If she had to go into hiding, would she even be able to see him? Would she ever get a chance to talk to him about all the things she wanted to discuss?
There were so many things she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to explore. During her absence, he’d grown into a handsome, capable man. He was brave and strong, and she hated the thought that she’d have to cut short their friendship again, before she had the chance to find out if it was more than just friendship.
It was possible her perspective was a little skewed after everything she’d been through for the past eight years, but she knew her feelings were true. She loved her kids. She hated the criminals who, even now, were trying to outmaneuver her and ruin her life.
And she was pretty sure her feelings for Eric were more than just friendship.
Virgil took his time answering, walking closer, a little to the side of the vehicles. His activity was certainly suspicious, and his words were devastating. “Arthur couldn’t make it. You’re going to give the computer to me. Now!” The last word was barked like a command, its sudden force almost enough to distract her from what was really happening.
Virgil stood to the side of the steps, out of the way from the rear of the sedan. A man popped up from behind the back of the vehicle, his gun drawn.
Vanessa spun around and dived back toward the open doorway of the cabin while gunfire exploded from the windows above.
* * *
Eric watched in terror as the gunman leaped up, his weapon trained on Vanessa. But at the same instant, shots exploded from the cabin’s upstairs windows.
Eric didn’t see what happened to the gunman. He was watching Vanessa as she flung herself toward the door, disappearing inside the cabin. Too many shots had sounded. How many rounds had Abbott fired? How many had the gunman gotten off? Eric couldn’t tell if any of them had hit Vanessa, and now she was out of sight. Was she okay? She had to be okay. He still had so many things he wanted to tell her—especially how he felt about her. She’d been gone so long, and they’d had such a short time together. He couldn’t stand the thought that the gunfire aimed at her might have hit its mark.
The SUV lurched forward while the sedan moved backward, out of the Land Rover’s way as it turned wide on the open lawn. The gunman lay slumped, unmoving, even as the car peeled out past him.
Virgil ran toward the SUV, but the garage door flew open and the patrol car pulled out just in time to block the driveway. Neither the Land Rover nor the BMW were going to get out that way.
Eric glanced back toward the cabin, but could see no sign of activity beyond the front door. Was Vanessa okay? Had she been hit?
With the patrol car effectively blocking the driveway, Deputy Perez leaped from the vehicle, gun drawn, while Abbott bounded down from the porch, cuffs ready as she subdued Virgil.
The Land Rover still obscured most of the sedan, at least from the vantage point of the deputies. From the trees, Eric could clearly see the back door of the sedan pop open. A man jumped out and was escaping toward the woods on foot, but the deputies had their hands full, too full to go after him.
At the same moment, clouds of dust rose on the road. The FBI was arriving—but would they be too late? Unfortunately, the crook running toward the woods on foot already had a good head start. Eric could see that much clearly. And he saw something else fairly clearly, too.
The running man was Arthur Sherman. He’d come after all.
But at the rate he was running, he was going to get away. Sherman had found the deer trail that wound down into the ravine. If he followed it for another half mile, he’d reach the road. From there, anything might happen. He could phone a car to pick him up, hide out in the woods, keep running in any direction. He appeared to be in good shape for his age. If he got away now, he might escape for good.
Eric wasn’t about to let that happen. Vanessa had suffered too much because of this man—would continue to suffer fear and uncertainty as long as he ran free. Eric crouched on the edge of his tree stand. Sherman had a gun out, no doubt ready to defend himself if anyone caught up to him. The criminal ran along the length of the ravine, still following the deer trail—the same trail Vanessa’s grandfather had built his tree stand to oversee. As long as Sherman continued along that path, he’d pass almost directly below Eric.
Staying frozen still to avoid being seen, Eric watched Sherman’s approach. He could see the man’s face clearly—the man who’d conspired to hire Vanessa, then purposely sent Jeff to win her trust so he could kidnap her. The man who’d stolen eight years of her life.
Waiting until Sherman ran almost directly beneath him, Eric leaped down, shotgun in hand, catching the man by the back of his legs, bringing him down to the hard ground with a thump.
Sherman held tight to his gun in spite of being tackled, and pulled his gun arm around toward Eric. Just in time, Eric rammed him in the shoulder with the butt of the gun. Sherman’s arm went slack, but he kept a hold on the gun while struggling to get up again.
Eric planted one hand on the man’s shoulder and pivoted, swinging his legs around, bringing one boot down hard near Sherman’s wrist.
The handgun slapped against the ground, but Sherman’s fingers still clutched the handle.
Eric stomped again, ramming the gun free of the man’s fingers, then kicking it away before planting one boot on his hand, pinning it to the ground, and dropping his opposite knee into the middle of the man’s back. He gulped a breath and tried to think what to do next. An officer of the law would probably handcuff the man, but Eric had nothing to cuff him with.
Sherman’s free arm flew back as if to strike at him. Eric swatted it with the shotgun, then pinned the hand to the ground with the barrel of the gun. He leaned into the instrument, causing Sherman to groan in pain.
“Don’t try to get away,” Eric cautioned him, still trying to think how he was going to bring the man in. Chances were, no one had seen Sherman run through the woods, and they were down in the ravine—easy to miss, in fact, impossible to see from the cabin.
Eric thought about removing his belt or his shirt and using it to tie Sherman’s hands behind his back, but that would require letting go of the man. Could he hold the gun on him and march him back to the cabin? Surely Sherman would try to take back his own gun, or make a break for it, or fight him again.
“He was on the tree stand.” Vanessa’s voice filtered through the woods. “I don’t know where—”
“I’m in the ravine!” Eric called out, twisting around as much as he could to see Vanessa and whoever she was speaking to.
A pair of figures appeared over the rim of the ravine.
“Freeze! FBI!” the man who was with Vanessa shouted.
Eric froze, one boot firmly holding Arthur Sherman’s hand against the ground, his other knee planted in what he hoped was a particularly uncomfortable position against the criminal’s spine, his gun holding the other hand pinned in the dirt.
The agent leaped down the side of the ravine, pulling out his cuffs and slipping one end around Sherman’s wrist before Eric even let up with his boot.
Eric took a step back, waited just long enough to be sure the agent wasn’t going to let
Sherman wriggle free, and then reached for Vanessa.
She was trembling, one hand over her mouth as her eyes welled with tears. “You caught him? He came?”
Eric pulled her into his arms, pulled her tight to his chest, felt her still-pounding heart hammering against his and thanked God—that the men who’d taken everything from her had spared her life. That she was safe.
But Vanessa still seemed to be in shock as she absorbed the reality that Arthur Sherman had been caught—that indeed, even now, the FBI agent was shoving him back up the ravine, none too gracefully, on a forced march back to the cabin. “How did you— Where did he— How?”
“He was in the sedan. When the deputies circled the cars, he jumped out and ran for the woods, right along the deer trail through the ravine, which runs directly alongside your grandpa’s tree stand.” As he explained what had happened, they fell into step behind the FBI agent. Eric kept one eye on Sherman, just to make sure he didn’t try anything. The agent had scooped up the criminal’s gun, as well.
“You caught him.” Vanessa seemed to finally accept that the situation was really true as she looked up at him with joy pooling in her eyes.
“Jumped on him from above and held him down until the agent got him cuffed,” Eric explained, looking down at her with love rising in his heart, so grateful he’d had the opportunity to slay the monster for her, finally. To cut off the head of the human-trafficking ring and free Vanessa, finally and completely.
“Oh, Eric.” Vanessa leaned against him as they walked back up the trail, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder. “You caught him. It’s over. They’re all going to jail.”
“They’re all going to jail,” Eric repeated. He couldn’t resist planting a soft kiss on top of her head. He didn’t want to rush her into anything—she’d been through so much—but he was so grateful for the opportunity to hold her. Finally.
She didn’t seem to mind and nuzzled against his shoulder.
“It’s over. You’re free now.”
Twin Threat Christmas Page 9
