He plunged into the cornstalks, fighting his way through tangled plant growth.
Malone could have let him go. Chance was smart, driven and tough, but he was acting on emotion, and that could get a person killed. Malone grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him to a stop.
“Don’t be a fool, Chance. There’s no way you’re going to find her by—”
“I won’t if I keep standing here discussing it with you,” Chance spat.
“You won’t find her by running off without a plan,” he finished, his words as calm as he could make them.
“I have a plan. You go. I’ll stay.” He jerked away, angrier than Malone had ever seen him. “That’s a direct order, Malone. You disobey it, and you’re off the team.”
“Then I guess I’m off the team, because I’m not leaving you to burn to death in this mess,” he responded, following Chance deeper into the cornfield, fire snapping at their heels.
SIX
Thick and acrid smoke filled Quinn’s nose as she ran toward the burning cornfield. Malone was in there. So was Chance.
“What do you think you’re doing?” August growled, grabbing her shoulder, spinning her around so rapidly she almost toppled.
“Going after Malone and Chance.”
“They’re smart. They’ll find their way out. When they do, we’re not going to be the reason they run back in.”
She knew he was right.
She’d had dozens of firefighters in her classrooms over the years, teaching kids about fire safety. Never go back into the house. Your parents will find you outside.
Never go back in for a pet.
A toy.
A man who’d saved your life?
She’d do that, because she couldn’t sit around hoping for the best.
She tried to yank out of her brother’s hold, but he had a grip like steel. He shoved her into the backseat of the SUV, slamming the door before she could right herself.
“Don’t move,” he ordered as he opened the driver’s door and climbed in. “You get out of this vehicle again, and I’ll truss you up like a Thanksgiving turkey and stuff you in the trunk.”
“There is no trunk,” she snapped, her attention on the cornfield, the fire that was consuming it. First just black smoke. Then orange flames.
Where were they?
Shouldn’t they be racing around the corner of the field by now? Sprinting toward the SUV, shouting that August needed to drive?
“They should be out of there by now,” she said, the panic spilling out into the words. She could hear it, could feel her pulse thrumming through her veins.
She reached for the handle, because she could not sit and wait while two men were burned alive.
“I told you not to move!” August growled, the voice and tone one she’d never heard before.
“We can’t just sit here.”
He turned in his seat, his eyes blazing. “Do you think this is what I want? That I want to sit in this vehicle and stay safe while other men put their lives on the line? I want in there, but you are my first priority. Everyone else is second.”
“Then, you go. I’ll stay. I promise. I won’t get out of this vehicle.” Anything to offer help to Malone and Chance.
“And what if whoever set the fires finds you sitting here?”
She hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t even considered that the fires had been set, that someone was out there, probably lying in wait. “I...don’t know.”
“Exactly. You don’t have a weapon. Even if I left you with my handgun, you don’t know how to fire it. You’re helpless, Quinn. Just like Mom always was.”
It was a jab out of left field.
“I’m not like our mother.”
“Yeah. You are.” He glanced in her direction, his dark gray eyes nearly black with emotion. “You care too much. You put everyone else first. You’d die before you let anyone you love be hurt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There will be if you die, Quinn. Do you not understand that, either? I love you. You’re my kid sister. I’m not going to sit back and watch you be hurt. Stay in the vehicle.” He got out. Slammed the door.
She sat where she was, because she didn’t know what else to do.
If she got out, she’d be putting everyone else in danger. If she stayed, she’d feel exactly like what August had said she was—helpless.
Her door flew open, and August was there.
“Scoot in!” he shouted, and she moved, sliding into the center seat as a red-haired woman dashed toward her. She was in the seat with the door closed so quickly that Quinn barely had time to blink.
“Stella. Silverstone,” the woman panted, black soot smudged across one cheek, a bloody scratch on her hand. “Where are Chance and Malone?”
“Looking for you.”
“Your friend—”
“Brother.”
“Yeah. Him,” she said impatiently. “Is texting them. Hopefully, they’re not so idiotic that they’re in the middle of that burning mess.” The words were terse, but she was worried, Quinn could see it in her eyes.
“What happened?”
“Someone found me. I don’t know how, but I plan to find out. Did your sister leave anything in the car before she left the kid? A cell phone maybe? Something that she could be tracked with?”
“No.”
“Well, your car was being tracked. I know I wasn’t followed, but someone knew exactly where I was.” She wiped at the blood, muttering something under her breath that Quinn couldn’t hear.
“What?”
“My first-aid kit is in my bag in a car that is about to be destroyed.” Her gaze was on the cornfield, the flames that swept across it.
“That car is my Jeep,” Quinn reminded her, and Stella sighed.
“I know. In retrospect, parking it in the middle of a fire hazard wasn’t the best idea, but I was running out of time, and I needed cover. I’m sorry about it, though. I’ll get you a new one when this is over.”
Quinn would have laughed, if the situation weren’t so deadly serious. “You can’t just go and buy a Jeep for me, Stella. I have insurance. I’m sure it will cover—”
“Destruction by fire?” Stella said, a wry edge to her voice.
“Accidents happen.”
“This was no accident. There were at least three men in that car. I got a look at one of them. I’d be happy to tell the police, but I think our best bet is to get out of here and contact the FBI.”
“What—”
“There!” Stella cried, the relief in her voice and in her face undeniable. “Chance is out!”
She jumped from the SUV, racing toward a man who’d just stumbled out of the corn field. Quinn followed, praying that Malone would be next, that he’d sprint out from between corn stalks, run back toward the SUV.
He didn’t, and she skidded to a stop next to Chance, her stomach churning with anxiety. “Where’s Malone?”
“We saw someone. He went after him,” he said, wiping a hand down his face, smearing the soot that covered every inch of his exposed skin.
“Why would you let him do something like that?” Stella demanded, pulling off her jacket and using it to swipe at his soot-coated face.
“I didn’t,” he replied, taking the jacket from her hand and finishing what she’d started.
“You’re saying he defied your orders?”
“It’s a long story, but if he doesn’t get his...” His voice trailed off as someone crashed through the cornfield a few feet away. A man tumbled out. Not Malone. This guy had pale skin. Brown hair. A belly that hung over his belt. He had cuffs, too. On his wrists. And Malone, right behind him, looking mad as a hornet.
The guy stopped moving, and Malone gave him a not-so-gentle shove. “Keep going.”
“You’re going to be sorry for this,” the guy growled. “My boss...” He stopped himself. Shook his head. “You’re going to be sorry.”
“You’re the one who looks sorry,” Stella
said, walking over and lifting his cuffed wrists. “Was the money your boss gave you worth going to jail for?”
“No way I’ll be in jail. You’ll see,” he said belligerently. “I’ll be out before the sun goes down, and you clowns are going to be sorry you ever messed with me.”
“Sorry seems to be your favorite word,” Malone said, his voice dangerously calm. “So, let’s talk about other things that a person might be sorry for—like the fact that he was abandoned by his buddies?”
“They didn’t abandon me. We all had different quadrants, and—”
“So, there were four of you, huh?” Malone nodded toward Chance, who typed something into his phone.
The guy pressed his lips together, and refused to answer.
Too late. He’d already let information slip out.
Malone eyed the cornfield and the smoke that billowed up from it. Quinn thought he might also be looking at the barn. It stood straight in the path of the fire.
“The smoke is pretty noticeable in a place like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone called 911. We should be hearing sirens soon. You got some rope, August?” he asked. “We can tie this guy up in the barn and leave him for the police. Then we can get on with our day.”
“That barn is going to go up like kindling!” the man protested, his gray-green eyes a little too small in his full face.
“So did the cornfield. While I was sitting in the middle of it.” Stella took her jacket from Chance. “You can use this, Malone. Tie his legs. That’ll keep him from going far.”
“You can’t leave me to burn to death!” The man pleaded, his eyes on the fire that was already lapping at the edges of the barn.
“Why not? Your friends did. Me? My buddies would never leave me behind. I’d never abandon them.” Malone touched his scar, his eyes going dark for just a second. “The way I see things, if I had a comrade who was willing to risk his life for me, why wouldn’t I risk mine for him?”
“You leave me there, and I’ll die. That’ll be murder!” the guy yelled.
“Seems to me, you have a real problem. Maybe you should think about how great your friends are while you’re getting nice and toasty warm.” He grabbed the guy by his arm, started dragging him toward the barn.
“Libby. Charles Libby,” the guy shouted. “He’s the one who got us all together and planned everything out. He had the money, and he got that from the boss.”
“Who’s the boss?” Malone asked, still dragging the guy along.
“I don’t know!”
“Who are the other guys?”
“I don’t know that, either.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, isn’t there?”
“When someone offers money, I don’t question it.”
“Maybe you should.” Malone shoved the man back toward the group, and he stumbled, stopping himself before he fell to his knees.
“It was supposed to be an easy job,” the man said, his voice calmer. “Libby had already been tracking the kid through a device attached to her car seat.”
The words chilled Quinn’s blood, her mind spinning back to the moment when Tabitha had handed her the booster seat and the backpack.
Make sure she stays strapped in, Quinn. She’s tiny for her age, and she can’t be in a car without this.
Jarrod would have known that.
If he was as controlling, as mean, as abusive as Tabitha had said, than a tracking device on a booster seat made sense.
She shivered, realized that Malone was watching her, his eyes hooded, his face smeared with layers of soot. He looked hard and dangerous, and she was more glad than she’d ever been that he was on her side.
“Your sister was mistaken about who her husband would go after,” Malone said. “He’s not going after her. He wants Jubilee.”
“To get at her?” she asked. “Tabitha seemed convinced that he didn’t care about Jubilee. He didn’t want her back.”
“Someone wants her,” the brown-haired guy said gleefully. “I got paid good money to make sure she was returned to wherever she’s supposed to be.”
“You planned on returning her after you burned her alive in a car?” Stella nearly spit the words out.
“We’re not stupid. We knew the girl was taken somewhere and the car was being driven away from her. Libby figured you were trying to throw us off the track. No way was that going to happen. When the Jeep was driven in the cornfield, Libby said it might be a trap. We decided to flush the driver out and make her tell us where the girl was.”
“That’s a lot of work for a few thousand dollars,” Chance said, his voice cold, his eyes icy blue.
“Hey, I have things I want. Easy money is easy money, and I take it where I can get it.”
“What’d you spend it on?” August muttered. “A car? A fridge full of beer?”
“A down payment on a boat I’ve been wanting. Gonna do a little fishing and—”
“What you’re going to do,” Malone said, “is wish that you’d saved the money for bail. I hear sirens. Let’s get this guy out front, so we can talk to the police and get on our way.”
Chance grabbed the guy by the arm, manhandling him around the corner of the house, Stella right beside him. August mumbled something and followed, fresh blood rolling down his arm.
He needed medical attention. Quinn should have run after him, made sure that he got it, but her feet felt leaden, her mind numb.
She’d believed her sister.
After all the lies, the drugs, the cons she’d pulled, Quinn had still wanted to trust that Tabitha was telling the truth.
“Just because Tabitha was wrong, doesn’t mean she lied,” Malone said as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“The evidence is stacking up against her.” She smoothed her hair, tried to keep her voice steady. “Besides, Tabitha has a history of being dishonest.”
“I have a cousin who was like that.” He dropped an arm around her shoulder, the weight of it familiar and comforting. Quinn had forgotten what it felt like to have a man’s arm around her. She’d forgotten what it was like to walk side by side with someone.
She’d forgotten, and maybe she shouldn’t have remembered, because it felt good. It felt nice. It felt, if she really thought about it, a lot like being home.
“Is she in jail?” she asked through the lump in her throat.
He laughed, the sound vibrating through her shoulder. “He is now a pastor. With five kids and a wife who adore him. People change, Quinn.” He stopped, looked straight into her eyes. “All the time. Don’t give up on your sister until you know for sure that she hasn’t. Okay?”
She nodded, and he smiled. Not an open cheerful smile. A soft one that made something in her heart spring to life.
“Good. Now, how about we go make sure our perp tells the police everything he told us.”
* * *
The thing about police was that they liked to be thorough. In small towns, like the one Malone and the team had found themselves stuck in, they were even more thorough.
He could understand that. Successful prosecution rested on their ability to process scenes and evidence properly. They often had to do it with a lower budget and fewer officers.
Yeah. He understood, and the deputy and sheriff who’d shown up in response to Chance’s call were as professional as any law enforcement officer Malone had ever met. He’d have been able to appreciate that, if he hadn’t been standing around twiddling his thumbs for an hour.
He glanced at his phone. No text from Boone. His connecting flight must have departed on time. Good news for Boone and for Jubilee. Agent Spellings had left a message after she’d heard from the local PD, and she’d assured Malone that they had Jubilee in protective custody. No one was going to get an opportunity to kidnap her. That was great.
What would have been greater would be the FBI bringing Jarrod Williams in for questioning.
That was currently out of the question. According to Spellings, there wasn’t enough probable
cause. Could be that was true, but Malone had been doing a little research while he was waiting for the local PD to finish. Jarrod Williams was a big deal in Las Vegas. He owned enough property to be a millionaire several times over. He had several businesses and investments and was currently making a bid for state senate.
A guy like that would have a lot to lose if he went to jail. He’d have a lot to lose if people found out he was an abuser.
“You’re deep in thought,” Quinn said. She’d made herself comfortable on an old porch swing that hung from rusted chains. The thing looked as though it would fall if a feather landed on it, but the chains hadn’t quit yet.
“What did your sister say about Jarrod?” he asked.
“That’s what you were thinking about? Jarrod?” She rested her chin on her bent knees, the swing creaking as it moved. There were freckles on her nose and cheeks and her eyes seemed darker gray in the late-morning light. Slate rather than dove.
Pretty, but he wasn’t sure why he was noticing.
His job required he spend time with all different kinds of people. Men. Women. Children. Ugly. Attractive. Mean. Nice. Bitter. Sweet. He’d never cared one way or another about those things. His job was to find the missing and to bring them home, and that’s what he did.
Running the race but not noticing the scenery. He wanted to thank Chance for putting the thought in his head, because now he couldn’t shake it.
“That and other things,” he responded, stepping onto the porch and moving toward her.
She scooted over, patting the bench seat. “There’s room.”
“I’m not worried about room. I’m worried about weight limit.”
She laughed, but there was tension in her face, tightness in her narrow shoulders. “My sister didn’t say much about her husband. She said he was mean, that he had connections. That he could get her tossed into jail if he wanted to. Or have her silenced.”
“Did she tell you he was running for senate?”
“She said he was rich, and that she liked the money and wealth and things marrying him brought. She also said...” She frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes closing briefly. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”
“What?”
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