by Vella Day
Susan took two long breaths, hoping the deep breathing would cut through her nerves. “Okay.”
She didn't know how one and half football fields could be so long. They'd already travelled a good ten minutes, or so it seemed.
As the walls narrowed, she ran a hand on the side to keep her balance. Stay strong for Jake.
“There's a flashlight in the pack if you need one,” he said. “But we might want to use it later. I didn't throw in any extra batteries.”
From his worried tone she could tell he didn't want to waste the precious resource. “No problem. Seeing is highly overrated.” She swallowed her fear of the dark.
The path curved to the right and she ran into a wall. Susan ran her hands up and down the solid surface, needing to find some way out. “It's a dead end.” She nearly choked on the fluid clogging her throat.
“It means we're close.” Jake took a few steps to the right and pushed hard on the wall, forcing chunks of dirt to fall outward.
Scant light peeked in, and her shoulders sagged. “You found the exit. Thank God.” Had the ceiling been taller, she would have literally jumped for joy.
Susan helped peel away the earth wall. Soon, the only obstacle was the dense underbrush blocking their exit. He pried the leaves and branches apart, providing enough space from them to crawl through.
Jake held up a hand. “Let me go first to see if it's safe.”
This time she wasn't going to argue.
Jake retrieved his walking stick he'd set against the wall and forced his way through the small opening. He returned in less than a minute.
“I don't see anyone. Come on.”
He stuck out a hand to help her through the narrow portal. Once in the fresh air, Susan took a deep breath. The heavy scent of pine and oxygen bolstered her spirit. The cold air did not.
“Jake, you're bleeding again.” Or else she hadn't remembered the stain on his pants leg being so large.
He looked down at his wound. “It's stopped. I'm fine.”
His bravado had its limit. “The cut could become infected. Stuff the towel down your leg and I'll wrap the whole area with tape to secure it. Dirt has a way of worming its way into small places.”
“I didn't know they taught medicine in law school.”
“I'll have you know—”
“Shh. We need to keep our voices down. Sound travels far in the woods.”
“Fine,” she whispered. “Now stuff.”
Jake did as she asked, and she then attended to his injury as fast as she could. “That's the best I can do.”
While the cut on his cheek had scabbed over and his eye had swollen shut, she didn't have any other first aid equipment to tend to those injuries.
“Those gunshots we heard means there are at least two of them. We need to hurry,” he said.
He didn't need to prod her anymore.
Twigs cracked behind them and Jake spun around, his weapon pointed in the direction of the noise. Susan froze. Most of the trees were bare, but a large amount of underbrush, fallen logs and tangled branches provided places to hide.
After scouring the area for a minute, Jake lowered his weapon. He motioned his head away from the house and toward a path. When he didn't move, she guessed he wanted her to lead.
Every step she took made noise. Either the leaves crunched or sticks broke. If the killer was out there, how could he not find them? They were sitting ducks in the open and making more noise than kids at play.
Adjusting her backpack, she plowed ahead, determined to get away from the maniacs. Worried when his pace turned labored, she checked Jake every few minutes to make sure his leg was okay.
They'd trekked about ten minutes when Jake stumbled. She twisted around. Oh, no. He was on his knee, hand to head. She closed the gap between them and leaned in close.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. Give me a sec. The leg just gave out.”
Susan plucked Jake's cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched the On button. “We need to get help.”
She expected him to stop her. If getting a phone was as easy as taking his, she could have contacted her family days ago. She glanced down at the display. “No Service.”
“Unless we get on top of a mountain, you won't get any around here. There aren't enough towers.”
No wonder he didn't freak when she grabbed his lifeline.
Jake eased up to a standing position. There was no way he'd be able to continue for long. He wiggled his fingers for the phone.
She handed the useless lifeline back to him. “You have to rest.”
“I will when we get to the highway.”
Highway? Is that where they were headed? “How far is this road?”
“Maybe fifteen miles.”
“Fifteen miles?” Her voice rose and she stiffened. She had to stay calm.
“We don't have a choice. The guy isn't going to let us get away.” He dug the walking stick into the ground, pushed off, and moved forward. “Was the man at the restaurant a tall, thin blond man?”
Her stomach twisted. “Yes.”
“Then we need to move extra fast.”
**
Peter had tried to reach Jake on his cell several times, but the man wasn't answering. Just as well. He needed to stop procrastinating and face his brother to ask James about the story Sophia had told him and Maria. Did James know about the rumor that Joseph Francisco had had an affair with Mom? That James might really be Francisco's son? He did the math and figured Sophia wasn't talking about him being the byproduct of their union. Or had her speech come from her imagination?
Jake's question about who would want to frame Peter nagged at him. He denied James would ever harm him, but now he wasn't so sure.
Peter pulled up the drive of the ten thousand square foot mansion. The fountain wasn't running, but the up-lighting illuminated the imaginary water.
His heart pressing against his chest, he jumped out of his car, rushed up the door, and knocked. A moment later, James answered, a drink in his hand.
“Well, well, lookie who showed up.”
Peter wanted to wipe the smirk off his brother's face but getting nasty wouldn't give him any answers. “May I come in?”
James swept a hand. “You don't need permission to enter. It's been what, a year since you've come? You should see the renovations I've done.”
“Later. We need to talk.”
“You going to lecture me on how I'm running Daddy's business?”
Peter knew all about the counterfeiting scheme, but he'd never turn in his own brother. Peter just wanted to live his life within the law.
“No. I drove by the restaurant the other day and the lot was packed.”
The place was a front for laundering the counterfeit money, or so he surmised. The prosecuting attorney tried to prove Dad dabbled in human trafficking, but he didn't want to believe his father's dishonesty would reach as far as stealing women and selling them into prostitution. It had been hard enough to believe his own father had murdered an entire family, including their two young children.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes.” He needed fortification for the discussion.
Peter followed his brother into the modern living room. Blacks, whites, and reds created a stark atmosphere. Even the paintings on the wall that looked like someone had spattered paint on the canvas in a drunken stupor, held little warmth.
James poured a drink from a cut glass decanter and handed him a scotch.
“Here. So tell me what's stuck in your craw?”
James dropped on a plush leather chair, black of course, and Peter sat across from him. “I'll get to the point. I visited Sophia.”
His brother cocked a brow, but no worry lines creased his forehead. “How is the crazy old lady?”
“She has her days. She told me a story about Mom and Joseph Francisco being lovers.”
Peter watched his brother's eyes for shock, but none came. “So Dad claimed.”
&n
bsp; “Dad told you?”
“We had no secrets.”
Peter refused to acknowledge the lump in his stomach was jealousy. Nerves always did a number of his gut. “When?”
“The night before he was executed.” James lips turned up slightly.
“He never mentioned anything about the affair when I was there.”
James downed the contents of his glass. “Don't you remember how you got caught in traffic? Dad and I had a little chat before you got there.”
“There was a hurricane warning out and traffic was a bitch.” Actually, he delayed going, not knowing if he wanted to say goodbye to his father.
“I know.”
“What did Dad say?”
“He told me I wasn't his son, but that he forgave me for not being his blood.”
At least James was the bastard son and not him. The possibility he and Maria might have been related had nearly given him ulcers.
James' fingers tightened around the empty glass, as lines formed around his brother's mouth. His eyes hardened, but the small smile on his lips remained, contradicting what must be going through his mind.
“Are you okay with that?” Peter asked. A sudden wash of sympathy filled him. “Shit, if I found out Mom and Dad weren't who they claimed to be my whole life, I'd have freaked.”
“That's one difference between us. I don't give a fuck who screwed Mom.” He leaned back in the seat as casual as could be. “Look on the bright side. At least my dad is still alive.”
Bastard. “Our father was the only dad you ever knew.” Peter polished off his glass and set it down. “Have you been in contact with your biological father?”
“Now, why would I do that?”
“Maybe to get a piece of his pie too. You add his human trafficking to yours, and you'd have a monopoly in Tampa.” Peter had no idea if his information about what illegal activities his brother was into was correct, but understanding James' motivations would help him figure out if his brother was behind the frame job.
“Peter, Peter, how little you think of me. No, I am not, nor will I ever be a Francisco. And I don't deal in human trafficking. I don't know where you get your ideas.”
“Could be because the courts claimed Dad did.”
“That was your father. I only run the restaurant.”
Liar. Peter pulled out his phone to check the time. “I have to go.”
James stood. “You need to rush back to Maria?”
The blood drained from his brain. He couldn't know. But somehow he did.
20
Richard smiled at the information his secretary had unearthed. How had he missed that Tom Traynor and Jake Yarnell went to school together? Tom's former suitemate told Julie that Jake spent every summer with Tom and his family in a cabin in West Virginia.
Julie clutched a Manila folder to her chest. “Before Tom left, he told me he and his dad were going out to dinner tonight in Old Alexandria to celebrate his birthday.”
The dots suddenly connected. That meant the cabin would be empty for a few days. Perfect. Richard wouldn't be surprised if Jake and Susan Chapman were holed up there. Once he found them, he'd get his children back and bring his wife home from the hospital. The stress of the kidnapping nearly sent her into cardiac arrest.
“Thank you, Julie. You've been a big help.”
He understood that his wife would hate him once she learned what he'd done, but at least Ethan and Courtney would be safe. That's all that mattered.
He followed Julie back to her desk, and then headed to Stanton's office.
He calculated the next leg of the journey. The drive from Washington to Shepherd's Hill would take a good three hours. If he found nothing, he'd be back by dinner, in time to visit with Kathleen before she fell asleep.
Richard tapped the doorframe to get Stanton's attention, and then marched in when the man at the desk didn't react. “I think I know where Jake might be hiding out.”
Stanton's fingers froze on the keyboard. He looked up. “Where?”
“Did you know Tom and Jake were roommates in college?”
He hesitated before he spoke. “I heard them mention that fact once or twice. Why?”
“The Traynor's have a cabin about three hours from here. I'm going to check it out.”
“Why not ask Tom to do it?”
The man was denser than concrete. “So he can tip off his best bud?”
Stanton's mouth twisted into a frown. “Fine, but I'm going with you.”
He didn't want the company, but if he had to take out Jake or Susan, it might be better to have Stanton along as a witness. He'd make sure it looked like an accident. “Come on, then.”
Stanton gathered his laptop, made two quick phones calls, and then clicked off his office lights. On the way out of town, Richard called the hospital to hear his wife's voice and to tell her he loved her, but she was having some tests run and wasn't available to talk. Damn. He might never get the chance to hold his wife in his arms again.
His stomach soured. His hole was so deep there was nothing he could do to rectify his situation other than to do whatever it took to keep his kids safe.
“Did you get an address of this cabin?” Stanton asked, jarring him out of his reverie.
“General directions, but when we stop in town, I'm sure I can get a better idea of where to find them.”
Sure enough, the second restaurant they stopped at in Shepherd's Hills provided the needed intel. A tall, shapely girl, with bright red hair, was sporting a large bruise on her cheek. She seemed eager to share the information once he flashed his badge along with Susan/Taylor's and Jake's photos.
“Taylor works here, but it's her day off,” Rebecca said.
“She's staying at the Traynor cabin, right?” Richard asked.
Her eyes widen. “Yes.”
Her fidgety hands alerted him something was quite right. “Something wrong?”
“You're the second person to ask about her.”
Shit. “Who else did?”
“The person who did this to me.” She pointed to the bruise on her face.
“Does he have a name?”
“None he was willing to share. He and a friend came to the restaurant last night, but I'd never seen them before.”
“What did you tell them?”
She cast a gaze downward and pressed her lips together.
Stanton stepped forward. “Miss, we're the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We're the ones trying to keep Taylor safe. Can you tell us where to find her? We think her life might be in danger.”
Her hand flew to her chest. “I knew her story about being hit by a drunk driver was fishy. Is Jake her bodyguard or something?”
“Jake works for me,” Stanton said. “We sent him here to protect Taylor.”
She smiled. “I knew it. He kept telling everyone they were engaged.”
Richard didn't have time to discuss her crush-of-the-day. “Did you tell this guy what he wanted to know?”
“Yes. He would have killed me if I hadn't.” She scrunched up the hem of her apron.
“Did you tell the Sheriff what happened?” He wanted to see if the cops had checked out the cabin.
She touched her cheek. “No. He said he'd burn down the diner if I told anyone. You'll make sure that doesn't happen, right?”
“Don't worry. We'll arrest him before he has a chance to do any more harm.” Richard couldn't keep his nice guy attitude going much longer. “Can you give us directions?”
“Sure.” She took a napkin and drew a map. “It's only about five miles from here.”
He grabbed the paper. “Thanks.”
The directions were simple enough. Take the only road out of town four miles south, turn right at the red mailbox. Great.
“You're going to stop that men, aren't you?” The waitress' brows creased so deeply, he thought she might create permanent frown lines.
“That's our plan.”
To his surprise, her instructions were dead on.
&n
bsp; “I see the red mailbox,” Stanton announced without any emotion.
A red mustang was parked half on, half off the road, ten feet beyond the mailbox. “This must be the place.”
“You sure,” Stanton said. “Jake wouldn't drive this kind of car.”
Too impractical for Tom Traynor's dad too. “Let's check it out anyway.”
He turned up the drive. The car bounced on the rough gravel road as they climbed the mountain, and dust billowed behind them.
“This must be a bitch in the winter when it snows,” Stanton said, hanging onto the overhead handle for dear life. “I sure as hell wouldn't want to live here.”
As the road narrowed, a cabin came into view. Two cars were parked there, one behind the other.
“Someone has company,” Stanton said.
Richard cut the engine, slipped the weapon from his shoulder holster and eased open the car door. The wind slapped him in the face, but he kept his focus on the living room window. He motioned for Stanton to check out the back.
Once his partner, if he could call him that, disappeared around the side, Richard pressed against the front door and peered through the window. No one was in sight. He tested the doorknob and found it unlocked.
With his gun ready, he burst in and scanned the living room. Nothing. A hallway led to the back. Walking as softly as he could, he inched down the hall and checked both rooms.
“Damn.” They were both empty.
Richard returned to the front just as Stanton past the kitchen window. “Stanton.” He waved him inside.
He ran in a little out of breath. “Nothing out back.”
“They were here. Susan's stuff is on the bed.”
“You think they're spending the night in the woods?”
Given it was close to five and getting dark, he didn't know what else to conclude. “With two cars here and one by the entrance, I can guess that was the plan. I imagine one of the cars is Jake's rental, but who owns the other two cars?”
“Let me see if I can run down the owner of the car up here.”
Stanton dashed outside and returned ten minutes later. “The Jeep is registered to Jake. The other one is registered to a Gina Stenoff from Arlington, Virginia. I had the office find her number. I called and she said her husband, Ronnie, took off in her the car.”
