by Karen Rose
Luke did so, giving her a pointed look. “Keep your eyes open if you need to use it. I’m sorry about your stepsister,” he added quietly. “So is Daniel. Really.”
“I know,” she said, and remembering the hurt in his eyes, she knew it was true. He’d done his job, but Bailey would be dead just the same. Nobody wins. She was spared further reply by the emergence of Daniel and Susannah from the house. She gave him his keys and he locked the front door.
“Let’s go back,” Daniel said, his expression flat, and Alex wondered what Daniel and Susannah had discussed-and what they had not.
Friday, February 2, 3:00 p.m.
Frozen in place, Bailey waited for Loomis to give her away. Her heart pounded like a wild thing. So close. She’d come so close… Beside her, the girl started to cry.
Then, to her shock, Loomis put his finger over his lips. “Follow the trees,” he whispered. “You’ll find the road.” He pointed to the girl. “How many more in there?”
Bailey clenched her eyes shut. All gone. “None. He killed them all. All except her.”
Loomis swallowed. “Then go. I’ll go get my car and meet you by the road.”
Bailey held the girl’s hand tight. “Come on,” she whispered. “Just a little bit longer.”
The girl still cried softly, but Bailey couldn’t let herself feel sympathy. She couldn’t let herself feel anything. She just needed to keep moving.
Now that was interesting, Mack thought, watching Loomis point Bailey and the other girl toward freedom. The man was actually doing his job. For once in his life Frank Loomis was actually serving and protecting. He waited until Loomis was a few feet away before stepping into his path. He held his gun steady and Loomis stopped dead.
Loomis’s eyes rose to his face, recognition instantly dawning. “Mack O’Brien.” His jaw tightened. “I guess it goes without saying that you’re not in prison anymore.”
“Nope,” Mack said cheerfully. “One-third served.”
“So it’s been you, all along.”
There was satisfaction in his smile. “All along. Give me your guns, Sheriff. Oh, wait, you’re not a sheriff anymore.”
Loomis’s lips thinned. “I’m being investigated, not tried.”
“Like there’s a difference in this town? Give me your guns,” he repeated deliberately. “Or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you can help me.”
Loomis’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
“I want Daniel Vartanian here. I want him to see this operation firsthand and to catch them red-handed. If you give him all this and Bailey, that should be enough to influence your trial. I mean, investigation.”
“That’s all I have to do? Get Daniel here?”
“That’s all.”
“And if I refuse?”
He pointed at Bailey and the girl, picking their way through the woods on bare and bloody feet. “I raise the alarm and Bailey and the girl die.”
Loomis’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a sonofabitch.”
“Thank you.”
Dutton, Friday, February 2, 3:10 p.m.
“How’s your headache?” Daniel asked.
“I hit it in time. I’m fine,” Alex said, keeping her eyes on the window where Dutton’s Main Street wound by. She should apologize to him, she knew. She’d hurt him when he was just doing his job. But, dammit, she was angry. And helpless, which made her even angrier. Not trusting her voice or her words, she kept her mouth firmly closed.
After another few minutes of silence Daniel hissed a curse. “Could you just yell at me, please? I’m sorry about Bailey. I don’t know what else to say.”
The wall holding her fury broke. “I hate this town,” she gritted from behind clenched teeth. “I hate your sheriff and the mayor and everyone that should have done something. And I hate-” She broke it off, breathing hard.
“Me?” he asked quietly. “Do you hate me, too?”
Trembling, eyes burning, she rested her forehead against the car window. “No. Not you. You were doing your job. Bailey got caught in the cross fire. I’m sorry for what I said. This isn’t your fault.” She turned her face so that the window cooled her flushed cheek. “I hate myself,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I should have said something back then. I should have done something. But I curled up into a little ball and hid it all away from the world.”
His fingertips brushed against her arm, then fell away. “Last night you said we couldn’t blame ourselves,” he said.
“That was last night. This is today, when I have to think of a way to tell Hope her mommy’s never coming home.” Her voice broke and she didn’t care. “I don’t blame you, Daniel. You played this exactly the way you had to. But now I have to go on and so does Hope. And that scares the hell out me.”
“Alex. Please look at me. Please.”
His expression was one of tortured misery and her heart broke even more. “Daniel, I don’t blame you. Really. I don’t.”
“Maybe you should. I’d prefer it to this.”
“To what?”
His hands clenched the wheel. “You’re pulling away from me. Last night it was we have to go on. Today you’re back to doing it all by yourself. Dammit, Alex. I’m here and nothing for me has changed in the last hour. But you’re pulling away from me.” He flinched. “Goddammit,” he swore bitterly and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, sending plastic gloves everywhere. “Vartanian.”
He went still and immediately the car began to slow. “How?” he demanded.
Something was wrong. More wrong, anyway. Daniel pulled to the shoulder as she nervously picked up the scattered gloves, tucking them into her own jacket pocket.
“Where?” he bit out. “No fucking way. I come with backup or I don’t come at all.” His jaw cocked. “No, I don’t guess I do trust you. At one time I did. But not anymore.”
Frank Loomis. Alex leaned closer, trying to overhear. Daniel was patting his pockets. “Can you get me a pen?” he asked, and she dug one from her purse. He pulled his notebook from his shirt pocket. “Where exactly?” He scribbled an address with a frown. “I’d forgotten about that place. That at least makes sense. Okay. I’m coming.” He hesitated. “Thank you.”
He did an abrupt U-turn, making Alex grab for something to hold on to. “What is it?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.
He flicked on his lights. His speedometer had already climbed to eighty.
“That was Frank. He said he’s found Bailey.”
Alex sucked in a breath. “Alive?”
Daniel’s jaw was taut. “He says so.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Luke, I need you to turn around and meet me at…” He held the phone to Alex. “Tell him the address. Tell him it’s out past the old O’Brien mill. Susannah will know where that is.”
Which had been what “at least made sense.”
Alex did and Daniel took the phone back. “Frank Loomis says he’s found where they’re holding Bailey Crighton. Call Chase, have him send backup. I’m going to call Corchran in Arcadia. I trust him and he’s close by.” He listened and glanced at Alex. “That’s why I’m calling Corchran. He won’t get there too much after us. He can take Alex and Susannah.”
Alex didn’t argue. He looked too intense. Dangerous. She felt no threat to herself, but grim satisfaction that whoever crossed them would be forever sorry.
He hung up and handed her the phone. “Find Corchran’s number in my notebook and dial it, please.” She did and he quickly brought the Arcadia sheriff up to speed and requested his presence. He hung up again and put his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you and Chase checked out O’Brien’s mill,” she said.
“The new mill, yes. I forgot about the old mill. I haven’t been out there since I was a little kid. It was just a pile of rubble even then.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When we get there, please stay in the car with your head down.” He looked at her, his gaze sharp and
hard. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Friday, February 2, 3:15 p.m.
“It’s done.” Under the cover of the trees, Loomis pocketed his phone. “He’s coming.”
As if there had been any doubt. “Very good.”
“Now let me go. I’ll go pick Bailey and the girl up and take them to the hospital.”
“No. I need you to stay here. In fact, I need you to move.” He gestured with his pistol. “Out in the open.”
Loomis’s face showed his shock. “Why?”
“Because even Judas showed up to the Last Supper.”
Stunned realization dawned in Loomis’s eyes. “You’re going to kill Daniel.”
“Probably not me.” He shrugged. “You made the call to Vartanian. If you’re not here to meet him when he gets here, he’ll leave, and then my fun is spoiled. So move.”
“But Mansfield will see me,” Loomis said, disbelief making his voice high-pitched.
“Exactly.”
“And then he’ll kill me,” Loomis said, tonelessly now.
He smiled. “Exactly.”
“And he’ll kill Daniel. You planned to kill him all along.”
“And everyone took you for just a slack-jawed, hick sheriff. Move.” He waited until Loomis started to creep to the edge of the woods, then gave his silencer a good twist. “And just to make sure you don’t do something stupid like try to run…” He fired once into Loomis’s thigh. With an agonized cry, Loomis sank to the ground. “Get up,” he said coldly. “When you see Vartanian’s car drive up, you walk on out to meet him.”
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
“We have to go.” The captain of the small boat scanned the landscape nervously. “I’m not waiting for your boss any longer, not while I’m sitting on this kind of cargo.”
Mansfield tried his cell again, with no answer. “He was taking care of the ones who couldn’t travel. Let me go back and find him.” He leaped to the dock.
“Tell your boss I’m waitin’ five more minutes, then I’m gone.”
Mansfield turned, eying the man coldly. “You’ll wait till we get back.”
The captain shook his head. “I don’t take my orders from you. You’re wasting time.”
It was true. Nobody took orders from Mansfield. Not anymore. No thanks to Daniel-fucking-Vartanian. And whoever stirred up all this shit to start with-who, if Daniel had really been as smart as everyone always said he was, should have been caught already. But he wasn’t caught because Daniel was as big a fuck-up as everyone else.
Clenching his teeth, he pushed the heavy door aside and walked down the hall, frowning at the dead girls. What a waste. With a little time, they would have been fit for resale. Now they were useless.
His steps slowed as he approached the cell that had held the chaplain. The door was open, a body slumped over the threshold, but something wasn’t right. He drew his gun and soundlessly moved forward. Fuck. It was one of Harvard’s security guys, not the chaplain, as it should have been. Mansfield rolled him over and grimaced. The man had been ripped open, stem to stern.
Wiping his bloody hands on the guard’s pants, Mansfield checked the next cell. The door was ajar. And the cell was empty. Bailey was gone. He took off at a run, coming to a dead stop as he rounded the corner and nearly tripped over the body crumpled in a heap on the floor. Mansfield dropped to his knees, checking his pulse. Harvard was alive.
“The boat’s leaving in a few minutes. Get up.” Mansfield started to lift him only to have his hand pushed away.
“Bailey got away.” Harvard lifted his head, his eyes bleary. “Where’s Beardsley?”
“Gone.”
“Fuck. They can’t get far. Beardsley has a hole in his gut and Bailey’s shaking so hard she can barely walk. Find them before they bring the cops on our heads.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll live,” he said acidly. “Which is more than I can say for the two of us if we’re found here, with all these bodies.” He struggled to sit up and reached for his gun, but his holster was empty. “Dammit. Beardsley has my gun. Give me your backup.”
Mansfield pulled his pistol from his ankle holster.
“Now move your ass. Find Bailey and Beardsley and kill them.”
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
Frank was waiting for them outside what looked like a concrete bunker. The perimeter was overgrown with weeds and the road was pitted from disuse. Daniel checked his watch. Luke and Sheriff Corchran should be here any minute.
“What is this place?” Alex asked.
“It was the O’Brien paper mill back in the twenties. They upgraded to the new mill in my grandfather’s day, when the town got a railroad spur.” He pointed beyond the trees to where the Chattahoochee River flowed. “Before that, they used the river to bring logs in and move the paper out.”
“I thought you said it was a pile of rubble.”
“It was. That bunker’s new, and camouflaged well enough that we didn’t see it from the air.” He said no more, watching Frank, who was leaning against his squad car, watching them.
“What are you waiting for?” Alex hissed, her voice vibrating like a plucked string.
“Backup,” he said succinctly, not taking his eyes from Frank. “And Sheriff Corchran to take you to where it’s safe.” He heard her indrawn breath and knew she wanted to argue, but he knew she would not and he respected her for it. “I don’t want to get Bailey killed by going in there half-cocked, Alex. If she is in there and she’s alive, I want to bring her out that way for you.”
“I know.” The words were barely audible. “Thank you, Daniel.”
“Don’t thank me. Not for this. Shit.” Frank was coming toward them, lumbering almost, and it wasn’t until he was a foot away that Daniel saw the dark wet stain on his pants leg. “He’s been hit.” The hackles raised on the back of his neck and he put the car into reverse.
Alex unsnapped her seat belt, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
Alex stared at him. “We can’t just let him bleed to death. He knows where Bailey is.”
“Wait, I said.” Daniel’s mind was racing, but indecision kept his brain spinning out of gear. Trap, his mind was screaming. But he’d been friends with this man a very long time. He rolled down his window a few inches. “What happened?”
“Caught a bullet,” Frank gritted, hooking his fingers in the open space of the window, smearing blood on the glass. He leaned in close. “Turn around and go. I’m sor-”
A shot cracked the air and after a split second of stunned pain and disbelief, Frank slid down Daniel’s car door. Daniel was already slamming his foot on the gas, sending them careening backward. “Get down!” he barked, not looking to see if Alex obeyed.
He wrenched the wheel, prepared to do a one-eighty. Then flew forward, smacking his head against the wheel when he hit something large and solid. From the corner of his eye he saw Alex slide down the dash to the floor in a heap.
Dazed, he looked up into his rearview and saw another Dutton patrol car, then looked right and saw Randy Mansfield standing in front of Alex’s open car door holding a Smith & Wesson.40 caliber semiautomatic. Pointed at Alex’s head.
“Drop the gun, Danny,” Randy said calmly. “Or I’ll kill her while you watch.”
Daniel blinked, reality congealing in a rush. Alex. She was huddled on the floorboard, motionless, and his heart stopped. “Alex. Alex?”
“I said give me the gun. Now.” He held out his left hand. His right still held his Smith at Alex’s head.
Where are you, Luke? Keeping his eyes on Mansfield’s gun, he slowly extended his Sig, grip first. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to shoot me,” Mansfield said dryly. He slipped Daniel’s Sig into the back of his waistband. “Give me your backup, just as slow.”
“She might be dead already,” Daniel made himself say. “Why should I do anything you say?”
“She’s not dead. She’s just playin’ poss
um.” He shoved the barrel of his gun into Alex’s head, but she didn’t move, and Mansfield looked impressed. “Either she’s really knocked out cold or she’s really good at playin’ possum. Either way, she’s still alive but won’t be in about ten seconds unless you do what I say.”
Gritting his teeth, Daniel pulled his backup from his ankle holster. Dammit, Luke, where the fuck are you? “You sonofabitch,” he hissed to Mansfield.
Mansfield took his revolver, then motioned with his head. “Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood. Nice and slow, you know the drill.”
Daniel got out of the car and looked to where Frank lay, not moving. “Is he dead?”
“If he’s not, he will be soon. Hands on the hood, Vartanian. You, get up.” He shoved the gun at Alex’s head again, but from his new position, Daniel couldn’t see if she moved or not. With a frustrated huff, Mansfield slid Daniel’s backup into his waistband next to his Sig, then grabbed Alex’s hair and yanked. Still nothing.
Daniel pushed back his panic. She was probably unconscious. It might be a blessing in disguise. Mansfield would leave her here, and Luke would find her.
“Pick her up,” Mansfield said, stepping back.
“What?”
“You heard me. Pick her up and carry her inside. I may need her later.” Mansfield motioned impatiently with his gun. “Do it.”
“She could have a back injury.”
Mansfield rolled his eyes. “Vartanian, I’m not stupid.”
Gingerly, Daniel lifted her from the car. Her breathing was shallow but steady. “Alex,” he whispered.
“Vartanian,” Mansfield snapped. “Move.”
Daniel scooped her into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other clutching her shoulders. Her head lolled like a rag doll and he remembered Sheila, dead in the corner. His arms tightened around her and he flicked a last desperate glance over his shoulder. Luke, goddammit. Where are you?
Chapter Twenty-five
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
From the cover of the trees, Bailey watched the unmarked car race by doing nearly a hundred, its lights flashing. Police. Relief had her nearly passing out. The cops were headed toward the compound. Maybe more would come. She had to get to the road.
